


Road Rules Apply

by iamyouropus (adieu_sweetamaryllis)



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:19:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adieu_sweetamaryllis/pseuds/iamyouropus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She’s expecting you to be there, waiting for her, rushing to greet her with hugs and kisses and love, and the thought tightens your chest. You consider forgetting it all, consider running into her arms and pulling on her neck until her lips meet yours and not letting them part until morning. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Dashboard Confessional's "Shirts and Gloves"

**“It seems our day keeps falling on a leap year…”**

You and Brittany move in together at the beginning of your sophomore year. 

You think it’s the happiest day of your life so far when she shows up at the new apartment with a box in her hands and a smile on her face. You had gotten there a few minutes before she had, and grin when you open the door to her on the other side.

“You don’t have to knock, baby,” you laugh. “This is _our_ apartment.”

She smiles up at you shyly, and you pull the box from her hands, leaning in for a kiss as you do so, knowing you could never be more in love with anyone than you are with her in that moment.

\--

You quickly fall into a routine with each other. Britt showers in the mornings and you shower at night. She does her homework on the couch in the evenings and you sit in your bed, Indian style, typing essays on your laptop. You meet her for lunch every day between classes, and some days Kurt and Rachel even join you.

Something changed between you and your former classmates when you all moved out to New York. You and Kurt aren’t close on an emotional level, but you get along just fine and have fun together. Rachel, on the other hand, has somehow become one of the only people you can talk to besides Brittany.

You and Brittany work well together in your small apartment. You make dinner most nights, but Brittany cooks on the nights where she doesn’t have rehearsal. Her meals are usually simple, but the way she serves them to you, like she’s so proud that she was able to cook something you like, makes whatever she cooks your favorite meal no matter what it is.

You’re both pretty busy, but you make time for each other. Wednesday nights you watch television (though the one thing you do consistently bicker about is what channel you should stay on—Brittany likes cartoons, you like reality TV and crime shows). She nearly always wins, but you don’t mind because she never fails to make up for it later, when you’re trying to fall asleep and her hands slip low against your stomach. 

Brittany spends some nights out late practicing, and aside from the way you worry about her traveling home alone at night, all you feel is an overwhelming sense of pride from watching her dance. You’ve been to a few of her performances, and she’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. She was good in high school, yes, but here she _shines_.

This is why you’re not surprised by her news when she comes home one night, a serious look on her face. Brittany is rarely in a serious mood, and you can tell immediately something is up.

“Baby?” you ask, and her eyes rise sheepishly to meet yours. You’re sitting at the kitchen counter, eating dinner, and she’s been staring into her soup bowl for the past three minutes.

“Sorry,” she says, laughing, and you smile.

“What’s up?” you ask, reaching for her hand. She squeezes yours back tightly, sighing.

“I have to tell you something,” she announces. “But I’m nervous how you might take it.”

You furrow your brow as your mind jumps to all sorts of conclusions, nearly all of which you’d bet serious money on not being true because Brittany would never, _ever_ do anything to hurt you.

“Don’t be nervous, B,” you say, as reassuringly as you can despite your own nerves. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I got offered a job,” she says quietly. Her eyes flick to yours to gauge your reaction, but you’re smiling. “As a dancer.”

“What? Babe, that’s great!” You pull her into you for a hug. “What is it?”

"I… um. You know that showcase I danced in about a month ago?” You nod. “Well there was a scout there, and he wants me to join this dance group.

“And you’d get paid?” This time it’s her turn to nod. “You’re going to get paid. You’ll be a professional dancer. I don’t see the downside in this, baby,” you laugh, nudging her.

Her eyes drop back down to her soup.

“It’s a touring group,” she says. “We’ll be gone for two months, starting in two weeks.”  
 You look at her, and you can tell this is the part she was nervous to tell you about. You squeeze her hand again, and she looks up at you.

“That sounds amazing, babe,” you say with a smile, and she visibly relaxes. She smiles at you for a moment before sighing.

“I don’t know, Santana,” she breathes out. “Two months is a long time. I’d have to take the semester off.”

“So, you take the semester off. It’s not a huge deal. You’re building a resume! This will make you look that much more impressive when you get out of school.”

She still looks skeptical, so you continue.

“And you’ll learn so much. You’ll get first hand experience of what it’s like to be on a tour with other professional dancers, and maybe even more scouts will get to see you this way. It sounds like such a great opportunity, Britt.”

She smiles again, but you can tell it’s not entirely real.

“It’s just…” she looks at your hands. “I’ll miss you.”

You bring her hand to your mouth and kiss it.

“I’ll be here when you come back,” you promise, and she smiles at your intertwined fingers.

“Do you want to go?” you ask, looking at her closely so you can tell if she’s lying in her answer.

She takes a deep breath, then nods, slowly at first, but picking up speed as she makes up her mind.

“Then you’re going.”

Her eyebrows are pinched together and her mouth is slanted downwards, and you can tell she still doesn't like the idea. You're quick to reassure her.

"It'll only be two months, Britt. I can even maybe come visit you once and we can Skype all the time, you know?"

Later you'll find it ironic that you were the one who convinced her to go, that gave her that extra push.

She frowns, looking straight into your eyes, and if it were anyone else you would feel extremely uncomfortable. Her mouth opens and closes several times, and she can't seem to find the words she wants to say.

"I'll miss you," she decides on after a minute, and you grip her tightly and pull her into you.

"I'll miss you more," you breathe into her hair

\--

The two weeks before Brittany leaves with the group are hectic, and you don’t get to see her nearly as much as you’d like to. She got added to the group late, so she’s a bit behind in learning the routines, which means that she has to spend more time at the dance studio, practicing, than at home with you.

You know that it shouldn’t make you quite as sad as it does, but you can’t help it. You figure as long as you don’t tell Brittany that it’s hurting you, you’re not a bad person. You’re just in love.

\--

The night before Brittany is supposed to get on a plane, she misses the dinner you have planned. She doesn’t know, but you cooked her favorites. They’re already cold on the table by the time she calls, apologizing, saying she’ll be home within two hours. She apologizes again, and there’s an uncomfortable silence when you don’t tell her it’s all right. She says she loves you, and this you _do_ respond to, and she hangs up.

She walks in an hour and forty minutes later. You’re sitting on the couch, eyes trained on a television that you haven’t _really_ been watching since you sat down in front of it.  She has a brown paper bag in her hands, and your eyes flick to it for a moment before going back to the television.

She kneels next to you on the couch, her lips immediately landing on your cheek.

“Baby…” she says, and you turn to look at her. She’s smiling, and you almost smile back, but you force yourself to pout instead. She giggles.

You’re jealous, because whenever she pouts you just can’t resist her, and she knows that. When you pout, she laughs at you.

“I brought ice cream!” she sings, and your face softens. “I figured we could curl up and watch a movie, if that sounds good to you?”

You sigh, knowing that it’d be hopeless to try and stay angry with her. Besides, you don’t want to spend your last night together fighting.

“Finding Nemo?” you suggest, because you know it’s her favorite, and it’s so worth watching it for the twelfth time since you’ve moved in to watch her face light up as she nods.

\--

“Santana?”

Brittany is standing in the doorway. You’d decided you needed to shower after the movie, and she’d stayed in the living room to print out her boarding pass for her flight in the morning.  
 You’ve just slipped a t-shirt over your head when you hear her. You turn around and smile.

“Yeah, Britt?”

Her arms hug her sides awkwardly as she enters your bedroom.  It’s a foreign sight; the graceful dancer rarely looks awkward in any way.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” she says quietly, looking at the floor.

“Britt,” you sigh, walking up to her and wrapping your arms around her. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about this.”

“Yeah, we do,” she insists. “I… I kind of stayed out on purpose.”

You jerk away from her.

“What?” you ask, feeling a pinch of hurt because Brittany _intentionally_ didn’t spend her last night home with you.

“I just…” she breathes out heavily, her mouth scrunching to one side. “I’m nervous.”  
You’re not sure why that would result in her wanting to avoid you, but you lean back into her anyway.

“Brittany, don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to be great,” you assure her, rubbing your hand up and down her arm.

“No, no,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m nervous about us.”

Your eyes lock onto Brittany’s, and you’re not entirely sure what she means.

Actually, you’re not sure at all what she means.

“What about us?” you ask, carefully.

She sits down on the corner of the bed, facing you.

“I’m going to miss you,” she says, and you feel like you’ve heard it a thousand times. It still makes your heart a little warmer every time she says it, though, because you feel that much better knowing that she’s on the same page as you.

“I’ll miss you too, babe,” you reply.

“You will?” she asks, and she sounds scared of the answer. Your brow furrows. You know you haven’t been telling her everything you’re feeling about this because you don’t want her to think she has to stay because of you, but you didn’t know that you were making her feel like she wasn’t going to be missed. That wasn’t your intention at all.

“Of course I’m going to miss you,” you assure her, taking the seat next to her. “I’ll miss you so much, every day.”

“Oh…” she says, and she sounds confused. “I thought… I don’t know, you’ve seemed like you’re excited for me to be gone.”  
You shake your head, seeing how she could get that impression. You haven’t been very clear with her lately. Maybe you’ve been preparing yourself for the distance by trying to keep her at arms length when it comes to your emotions, but you realize now that that was silly. Communicating with Brittany is never a bad idea.

“I’m not excited for you to be gone, Britt. I’m excited for you to _go_. I’m excited you’re going to get to experience these amazing things and become an even more amazing dancer. I’m so, so proud of you, baby.”

A small smile forms on her face. “Really?”

You nod, pulling her into you. You kiss her; your lips press against hers in the way you know you’re going to miss so badly the next day.

Her hands find their way up your body, first trailing up your arms, then cupping your cheeks, and now one is tangled in your hair. You’re not sure how long you’ve been kissing, but when you pull away you’re both out of breath, and Brittany has this airy smile she only wears after a particularly good kiss.

“We’ll be okay?” she asks, leaning her forehead against yours.

“We’ll be perfect,” you reply. “I promise.”

 _She_ kisses _you_ this time, and you feel the way your words affected her in the smile she presses into your lips every time they meet hers. Her hands are warm and soft, and you feel their affects on you every where she touches you—your arms, your face, your neck, your stomach, your –

“Oh, _god_ , Britt,” you hiss as her right hand palms at your breast while she lightly kisses her way up your neck. She stops at your ear, timing the flick of her thumb against your nipple with a slow lick across the shell of your ear. You groan, loudly, and she smiles when you buck against her.

“I’ll miss you,” she says into your ear, before kissing down your body to your stomach.

You want to tell her you’ll miss her more, but then she’s pulling on your underwear and her mouth is on you, and you think that she may just have to get the message from the way your back arches off the bed as you moan her name.

\--

The first week she’s gone isn’t as bad as you thought it would be. You’re distracted a lot, honestly, and most nights you can convince yourself that Brittany is just out at the studio, that she’ll be there when you wake up.

Mornings are the hardest, but most of them begin with a sweet text from Brittany when you wake up. She tells you what she’s doing that day, she tells you how much fun she’s having, she tells you how much she misses you and loves you. One day she tells you about a dream she had that you were the star of, and, well – you end up on the phone later that day with your hand in your underwear, listening to her pant out the details of her dream on the other end of the line.   

The second week is much worse. You miss her in a lot of ways you didn’t expect. You always come home to a dark house, now. You make way too much food sometimes, forgetting that you’re not cooking for two. Eventually you decide to stop cooking and just eat HotPockets and Ramen, like you did in your freshman year.

You like that you can watch whatever TV show you want, but it doesn’t feel as satisfying as it does when you’ve won that privilege from a pouting Brittany.

She doesn’t call you as much the second week, either. They’ve started doing shows every night, and on more than one day they have two shows back to back. Brittany is exhausted by it all, but thrilled that she’s getting to dance professionally, and you don’t have the heart to tell her how much you miss her when she’s off having so much fun.

One day you barely hear from her at all besides the good morning text. You don’t want to seem overbearing, so even though you’re worried something has happened to her, you don’t call her. You’re fears are settled when there’s a text waiting for you the next morning.

The third week, you get to Skype with her. Her webcam is broken, but one of the other girls on the tour is nice enough to let Brittany borrow her laptop for a half an hour. Brittany looks absolutely gorgeous, and you can’t stop smiling the entire time. Brittany shows you a few of the dance moves she’s learned, and tells you about her friends. The conversation ends abruptly when Brittany has to leave for dinner, but she promises she’ll call you tomorrow night. 

You watch cartoons that night, a pillow clutched against your chest.

\--

The rest of the tour continues this way, until it’s the last few days and you are bubbling with excitement that Brittany is coming home. You have spent _way_ too much time with Rachel and Kurt, and Rachel’s enthusiasm and Kurt’s romanticism have started to rub off on you. You think of having a big elaborate date planned for when Brittany gets back, but realize that would be too cheesy and Brittany would probably be too tired for it anyway.

Instead, you decide to recreate the dinner that you made Brittany the night before she left. Brittany’s plane lands around four in the afternoon, and she catches a taxi back to the apartment.

You’re pacing when she hears the door open.

“San?” Brittany calls out, you grin at the sound of her voice, so _here_ , so _present._ You run into the hallway and grab Brittany before she gets to take a single step away from the door.

Brittany is laughing, but she’s returning your hug with just as much enthusiasm. She only pulls away to bring you in for a kiss, one that makes your legs feel just a little bit weaker before she pulls back.

“Hi,” she says, a blush on her cheeks.

You don’t answer, just pull her into another kiss.

\--

“God, San, this is delicious,” Brittany says through a mouthful of food. You laugh, because it’s just mac n’ cheese, but if it makes Brittany happy you won’t argue with it.

“I’ll make you as much mac as you want, B, I’m just so glad you’re home,” you smile at her.

She puts her fork down suddenly, and you jump at the noise.

“Britt?”

She looks up at you, and you know that face, like she’s guilty of something.

“Santana…” she starts, and you can honestly say you don’t know what to expect. “I have some news.”

“News?” you parrot, because you don’t know what else would be an appropriate response in this situation.

She nods.

“You know how I was picked out by a scout at my showcase? Well…”

Your stomach clenches as you realize where she’s going with this, and you immediately feel guilty for wishing with all that you’ve got that her next words aren’t what you think they’ll be.

They are.

“I got offered a spot on another tour,” she says, and she sounds excited. “You’ll never guess with who!”

“Who?” you ask, even though your throat is tight and you really, really do not want to know.

“Beyonce!” she says, and you don’t register the name.

“Beyonce?” you repeat, and you feel bad that you haven’t really come up with your own words for a few minutes now.

She nods, grinning, and the name doesn’t click until you’re jumping out of your seat, looking at her with wide eyes.

“Holy shit, _Beyonce?!”_ you shout, and she’s on her feet then too, nodding excitedly.

“I’m just a backup dancer, and there’s going to be a lot of us on this tour, but the scout who picked me up for this last tour recommended me to a friend and then he came and saw one of the shows and he just… I’m going on tour with Beyonce!”

You grab her by the shoulders and pull her into a hug, kissing everywhere you can reach in the process.

“I’m so glad you’re happy,” she breathes, and you laugh. How could you not be happy? Your baby is going to be a dancer for _the_ Beyonce.

You ask her this, and she shrugs as she pulls away.

“I don’t know, I just… I thought you wouldn’t want me leaving again, after being away for so long.”  
 “How soon do you have to go?” you ask, and you feel guilty about how sad your voice suddenly sounds.

"I have a month,” she answers, and you’re glad that it’s at least more than two weeks this time. “But…”

“What is it, Britt?” you ask, when she doesn’t continue her sentence. Her lip is worried between her teeth, and she’s back to looking as nervous as before.

“This tour isn’t for two months, San,” she says quietly. You feel panic grip your chest and you will yourself to not look visibly upset.

“How long is it?” She drops her eyes from yours onto the floor, and it feels like your stomach dropped with them.

“A year.”

You breathe out. A whole _fucking_ year. Not only do you have to live through these past two months again, but this time, it’ll be for six times as long.

“A year?” you repeat, just to make sure, and she nods sadly.

“Listen, Santana, if you don’t want me to go I can—“

“My baby is going on tour with Beyonce for a whole year,” you interrupt her, and she looks surprised before a huge smile takes over her face. She tackles you in a hug, and you stumble a bit from the force of it.

“I love you so much,” she says into your shirt.

“Yeah,” you reply, rubbing her back. “Me too.”

\--

The month goes by quicker than you ever thought it could, and you find it funny that just a short time ago a month was dragging along to be one of the longest periods of your life. You’re seeing her off to her plane before you even have time to fully process that she’s actually leaving, again.

Single Ladies plays on the radio on the ride home, and you shut if off angrily.

\--

The first two months pass pretty much the same as the last tour. Brittany can’t send you texts every morning anymore because of her schedule, but you get used to it within the first week. You’ve adjusted to all the other parts of Brittany missing from your life; one more isn’t too big of a deal.

The third month is a bit more painful. You’ve never been away from her for this long, obviously, and you begin to cling to Rachel like a lost puppy. She sees what you’re doing but never comments, and for that you’ll always be grateful.

She even lets you come over and get absolutely shitfaced at her house. You sing karaoke and watch whatever trashy reality TV you want, and it feels so nice to be distracted for a little while that you crash so hard later that night when you realize you haven’t thought of Brittany in hours, and you wonder how often that happens to her.

You used to be so in love with her that she wouldn’t stay out of your thoughts for more than a few minutes, but that was when thinking of her didn’t hurt. You miss that.

\--

The fourth month you get a featured solo in a performance at NYU. Brittany was always pressuring you to audition. You try to call her a few times that day, but she doesn’t answer. She calls you back long after you’ve fallen asleep, and leaves you a long voice mail, apologizing for missing your calls and catching you up on what’s been going on with her—she’s happy, but she misses you “so, _so_ much.”

\--

Your birthday is in the sixth month, and you wake up to a text message from Brittany.  It makes you smile, because it was sent at midnight and you’re pretty sure she stayed up just for you.

You go to class, have a lovely lunch out with Rachel and Kurt, and nearly have a heart attack when you walk into your apartment that evening to see Brittany leaning against the couch waiting for you.

You’re in her arms before you have time to decide whether or not she’s real, and you’re so relieved when she embraces you and kisses you on the mouth.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, embarrassed by how tearful your voice sounds. You decide it’s okay, though, because her eyes are watering too.

“I missed you too much to stay away. I can only stay for a night, but we were passing by New York and it’s your birthday and just… I missed you so much,” she settles on, kissing you again.

“I missed you more,” you say, and kiss her just as hard.

“Happy Birthday, Santana,” she says, smiling, and you know that there isn’t anything else you could have ever wanted.

\--

Brittany has to leave early in the morning, but you’re so thankful that you got to spend time with her, as little as it may have been.

You kiss her as she gets on the bus and she smiles into it, the way that she always does that makes your heart race, and you feel so, so happy. Rachel meets you for lunch that day with a big grin on her face, so proud of herself for keeping Brittany’s surprise visit a secret in the weeks preceding your birthday. You hug her without warning, and she’s wearing the biggest grin you’ve ever seen her with when you pull away.

\--

The seventh month brings change. Brittany stops calling.

You don’t think it’s intentional. She’s been added to more and more numbers as the tour goes on and people realize how talented she truly is. She’s been super busy, with rehearsals all day and shows all night. She barely has time to sleep anymore.

You know all this, but still, it hurts like hell when you realize it’s been nearly five days since you’ve talked to her.

You call her, but no one picks up.

You listen to the voicemail just to hear her voice, but hang up before it reaches the end when you realize how pathetic that is.

\--

It’s on the tenth month when you know you can’t do this anymore.

You go to the club with your friends, the new ones class that you haven’t hung out with much before. There’s a girl there, Emily, and she’s showing all the classic signs of crushing, pretty hardcore, on you. She laughs at your jokes, shoves you playfully, texts you cute, funny jokes during class just to see you smile. You don’t mind the attention at this point, honestly. You haven’t heard from Brittany in _days_ , and although you would never ever cheat on her, having someone flirt with you does feel quite nice.

You’re not sure why you accepted her invitation to dance. It was probably an awful idea, and you might have recognized that had you not had a few drinks in your system. Unfortunately, the Jack and Cokes had been calling your name all night long.

You’re dancing with her in ways that you shouldn’t be, but hey—it’s the way everyone in the club is dancing. Brittany wouldn’t be jealous, no. In fact, you’re sure she’s danced this way with a ton of people since you’ve last seen her.

Emily is a good dancer. Not as good as Brittany, obviously, because no one is, but she’s as good as you, if not better, and she’s on a mission. You’re not sure whether or not you’ve mentioned you have a girlfriend, recently. It hasn’t come up much in conversation around this group; they aren’t much for emotional talks.

Emily grinds against you and you move with her easily, falling into rhythm without thought. Her mouth is near your neck, and she breathes out heavily, and that’s when you feel it—goosebumps. Something tightens in your stomach, and you pull away quickly at the sudden pulse of arousal now shooting through you.

“You all right?” Emily asks, looking concerned, and you pull away from her shaking you head.

“I need some air,” you say, shouting so you can hear, and she nods. She grabs your hand and leads you towards the door, and even though this was something you definitely wanted to do alone, you don’t want her to go away. You feel like you’re about to break down, because _fuck_ you feel so guilty about being that strongly attracted to anyone other than Britt, and you figure a bit of human compassion won’t hurt.

When you get outside, Emily immediately wraps her arms around you in a hug. You fall into the embrace, resting your forehead on her shoulder as you try to calm your thoughts. Before you can, though, Emily is leaning back and then forward again, and you don’t recognize what’s going to happen before it’s too late and her lips are on yours.

You don’t kiss back. Not really, anyway. Not that it’s that sort of kiss. It was sweet, and you honestly feel a little bit sad because Emily is nice and funny and you are definitely attracted to her, but you are so _helplessly_ in love with someone who hasn’t called you in six days.

“I’m sorry,” she says, sensing that it wasn’t something you wanted. You excuse it because she’s probably drunk and you know you are too, and maybe that’s why you didn’t protest this entire time, but something about that excuse doesn’t seem to fit right with you.

“It’s okay,” you reply, and she offers you a small smile before pulling you back into a hug.

 --

You get home that night and cry for what feels like hours, knowing that you could’ve fucked things up really badly tonight if you had just been a little more drunk or a little more upset with Brittany.

You decide you can’t do this anymore, and you’ll have to tell her next time you speak with her.

You’re going to have to ask her not to do any more tours at least until she gets out of school. You know she’s just doing what she loves, but you can’t stand being away from her anymore. You feel so guilty about it, but you realize that if you don’t ask her, your relationship is going to fall apart completely anyway.

\--

“You’re not going to believe this,” she says when you get her on the phone the next day, and you get excited because it sounds like she has something really great to tell you. You try not to get your hopes up that she’s going to tell you she’s coming home early or that she can visit you for a weekend, but you can’t help it.

“Oh, I’m not, am I?” you ask, and she giggles.

“No, you’re not. It’s out of this world, Santana. There are so many people here and they all just—the all want me to dance for them!”

Okay, so it’s not exactly the kind of news you were expecting, and it makes your heart break a little more than you thought was possible at this point.  
 “That’s awesome, B,” you respond, and it feels automatic by now.

"Yeah!” she replies, not noticing your lack of enthusiasm. “But that’s not all. Guess who called me an hour ago with like, the offer of a century?”

“Who?” you ask, because you really don’t feel like guessing.

“Britney. Spears.”

You process it a lot faster than you processed the news of Beyonce. Britney Spears, one of Britt’s idols. They danced around to Britney in their rooms when they were just kids, using hairbrushes as microphones and jumping up and down on Brittany’s bed like it was their stage.

“Holy fuck, baby. That’s amazing!” you reply, and you can hear her humming with excitement on the other end.

“Yeah, I’m so excited! But Sanny, I gotta go. I wanted to call you and give you the good news, but I really can’t stay on the phone for longer. We’re in the middle of rehearsal and they all think I’m in the bathroom,” she laughs.

You say your goodbyes and hang-up.

You’re left staring at the phone in your hand blankly for a few minutes, before you begin to cry.

\--

Brittany calls to tell you that her plane landed safely and she’s about to go find a taxi.

“I’ll be home by eight!” she says excitedly.

She’s twenty minutes late, and you don’t find yourself minding at all this time around. Gone is the itch to see her, the one that used to claw at your mind until you had her in your arms, her lips pressed against yours. Honestly, you’re dreading the moment the key turns in the lock and everything changes.

It happens anyway, not five minutes later.

You draw in a sharp breath when you hear footsteps outside, because you _know_ it’s her (you _always_ know when it’s her). The key turns in the lock and the door opens and you hear her humming softly under her breath.

She drags her suitcase in inside and the humming stops. You don’t move or make a sound from your seat on the couch, and she waits a beat before calling out your name.

“Santana?”

She’s expecting you to be there, waiting for her, rushing to greet her with hugs and kisses and love, and the thought tightens your chest. For a second you consider forgetting it all, consider running into her arms and pulling on her neck until her lips meet yours and not letting them part until morning.

“Santana? I’m home!”

You push yourself off the couch. You tell yourself to move your feet, to walk into the hall and do it ( _like ripping off a Band-Aid_ , _make it quick and get out of there)._ Somehow the words “in here, Britt!” escape your mouth instead, and you want to slap yourself.

She walks into the room, a bright smile on her face. A _Brittany_ smile, as you’ve always called it, radiant and contagious and you almost feel the corners of your mouth tugging up at the sight.

“There you are!” She’s wearing sweatpants and a tank top, perfect clothes for travelling. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail and you want to pull her into bed with you and cuddle her, holding her until you both fall asleep, and you can wake up in the morning and make her Mickey Mouse pancakes.

You’re in her arms before you realize what’s happening, and she’s running her hands up and down your back in the way that only she knows how to. Your arms rise weakly around her, and you’re angry with yourself for you own weakness.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she says, squeezing you tighter.

You swallow thickly and don’t respond. It takes a moment before you feel her body tensing, and you can almost hear her thoughts as she realizes you’re not hugging her back nearly as tightly as you should be.

She pulls back, and you see the worry in her eyes when she asks, “Are you okay?”

You lick your lips and avert your eyes. Four words, that’s all you have to say, but you find yourself wanting to put them off as much as possible. Now that she’s _here_ , it’s different. You consider briefly waiting until the last day before she has to go back on tour to do this, but you know how cruel that would be to her. If you do it now, at least she has two weeks to recuperate.

“We need to talk,” you say, and you surprise yourself with how strong your voice sounds.

She looks at you blankly for a second, before smiling slightly. You know she can sense what you’re about to say, but she’s trying to assure herself that she must be wrong.

“Baby, you’re scaring me,” she says with a small laugh. She looks relieved, and you realize it’s because you’re smiling now too.

 _Fucking idiot,_ you scold yourself for giving her false hope. But it’s _Brittany_ , and you just can’t help it; her laughter makes your heart race, no matter what the circumstance.

“I…” you trail off, unable to finish your sentence.

“You…” she says, giggling, teasing you. She thinks this is a game, and you feel a rush of guilt.

“You should sit down,” you say, and her smile drops.

“Why?” she asks, curiosity evident in her voice.

“We need to talk,” you repeat, and this time she doesn’t smile afterwards.

She stares at you for a few seconds, blinking.

“Are you breaking up with me?” she asks, and your heart twinges with affection at Brittany’s endearingly blunt nature.

“Yes,” you reply, and you force yourself to look at her. You won’t be a coward during this.

She doesn’t react at first, taking a few deep breaths before her eyebrows pull inwards, forming a crease between her eyes.

“Oh my god,” is all she says after nearly a minute of silence. She breathes out, and it almost sounds like a laugh, but you can tell by the tears gathering in her eyes that it isn’t one. “Why?”

She sounds so shocked and small and hurt, and it takes everything in you not to start crying.

“I just can’t do this anymore,” you reply, and you know it’s a copout of an answer, but you can’t bring yourself to tell her that you’re leaving because you’re weak and you can’t handle being in love with someone from a distance.

“I-is… is it someone else?” she asks timidly, sucking her lips into her mouth as she waits for an answer. She hasn’t started crying, not yet, and for that you’re grateful, but you can see the tears in her eyes and you know it probably won’t be long.

“No,” you answer with a firm shake of your head.

“Do you not love me anymore?” her voice is filled with so much heartbreak you feel your own heart cracking your ribs as it tries to force you towards her.

“Of course I love you,” you say, and the words echo in your mind as words from your past. You remember how far you’ve come together since those days in high school, and you realize you’ve never really done right by her. Not then, and certainly not now.

“Then… why?” she asks, and you can feel her eyes on your face as she waits for an answer.

“I just can’t be in a relationship with you anymore. We’re not right for each other,” you try to say, but she shakes her head immediately.

“That’s _bullshit_ ,” she says angrily, and you know she wouldn’t be saying it if she wasn’t absolutely certain that you were just trying to get out of this as easily as possible. You look at the ground, ashamed at your attempt to try and lie to her, ashamed that you didn’t know she’d see right through you.

“Why?” she asks again, this time with more conviction.

You remain silent for a few seconds before finding the courage to answer.

“I can’t be with someone who is never here, Britt,” you say. 

“What?!” she nearly shouts. You flinch a bit but don’t move backwards. “But, Santana, that’s—I—y-you were the one… You told me to go, you convinced me to go. And now you’re leaving me because of it?”

Your heart clenches because you know you’ve been stupid, you’ve made a mistake and you’ve hurt the one person who you care about most in the world.

“Things change,” you say softly.

“Things don’t just change overnight, Santana,” Brittany says, and you know she’s right. She’s always right. “You should have _told_ me.”

“I tried to,” you begin to say, but her eyes cut you off with a harsh look and you end up sighing instead.

“I just…” you say, and now it’s the part you’ve been dreading, the part you just want to skip. You know you’re not good with words and you know everything is going to come out wrong and she might end up hating you.

“You’re not here,” is all you can manage at first. You can tell you must look pathetic because Brittany’s eyes soften once more and she looks like she feels guilty, which is the last thing you want.

“You’re not here, and I _miss_ you,” your voice breaks, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself before continuing. “I miss you _so much_ , and it just feels like… It feels like you left me, you know? And I know you didn’t leave me, I know you love me, it’s not that,” you quickly insist as her face falls.

“But… you’re so far away, Britt. You don’t have time for me anymore. I feel like I’ve been broken up with but I can’t get over it or move on because every month or two you appear for a weekend or a Skype date and I know that I’m so in love with you, that I’m so yours that I could never get over it while we’re like this, that it’ll always keep hurting this bad as long as we’re together.”

Tears have started to fall from her eyes as you speak to her, and she pulls hand against her mouth to muffle the sound of her crying. Your heart hurts at the sight and you don’t know what to do now that you’ve finished saying all that you have to say.

“I-I…” she stutters. You’re afraid of what she’s going to say next, if she’s going to beg for you to stay or tell you you’re an idiot or _what_ , but instead she just says, “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” you say softly, and she shakes her head, taking a shuddering breath.

“I should have,” she insists. “In a way I think I did, I just didn’t… I didn’t think that—“ she stops speaking to take another deep breath, and you can tell she’s trying not to break down in front of you.

You decide that’s your cue to leave.

“You can stay here,” you tell her. “I’m going to go stay at Rachel’s until you leave again for the tour. I’ll move out after that,” you finish, and go to move past her, but she steps in front of the doorway. 

"S-Santana, wait—“

_Oh God._

“No, I can fix this. I'll quit. I'll come back, I'll live here again," she says, tears spilling over onto her cheeks. "I'll live here with you and everything can be good and happy again. I'll go back to Juilliard and we can go out to lunch with Kurt and Rachel every Monday again and we can have TV nights and date nights and— "

You know she's rambling, and you feel bad cutting her off, but all of this is sounding too tempting and you could never live with yourself if you let her do any of that.

"Brittany, stop it," you interrupt her, and the words stop. Her mouth hangs open, still, and she takes short breaths that almost sound like gasps out of it. "You're not quitting. You're not going to go back to school."

"Yes, I am!" she says firmly, and takes a step closer to you. "Santana, I'm not gonna let this break us up. I'll go back to school, I'll study and I’ll train some more. It’ll be good for me. Juilliard is the opportunity of a lifetime, it was stupid for me to have left in the first place." You cringe inwardly at this.

"It wasn't stupid, Britt. You were chasing your dreams—"

" _You're_ my dream."

You pause for a moment, a sigh falling from your mouth. Your hand rises to brush against your brow, a gesture you always subconsciously make when you’re frustrated.

"I'm not, Brittany."

She shakes her head at you, and you know she's about to argue some more so you speak again before she has the chance to open her mouth.

"The only thing that Juilliard is going to give you is opportunities like the ones you've already made for yourself, B.”

“It’ll give me you,” she insists, watery eyes locking onto your own.

“No, it won’t.”

She blinks at you, not understanding your words for a moment, before her eyes flash with the most hurt you’ve ever seen in a person.

“What are you saying?” she asks, her voice quiet and cracking.

“I’m not going to let you give all this up for me,” you say, and now you’re the one with tears in your eyes, and _goddamn-it all_ because you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry during this. You know what it does to her when you cry.

“Santana…” she says, and you keep your eyes down as you hear her choking on a sob. It’s all you can do not to reach out and grab her, hold her, but you’re so _fucking_ selfish and you know doing this for any longer will break you (though now you’re not so sure this option is any better). “ _P-_ please, San, don’t…”

You stand there awkwardly for a good thirty seconds before her sobs have quieted down and you allow yourself to look up. She’s sat down on her suitcase now, her head in her hands, shaking it back and forth.

It’s as if she feels your eyes on her, because she looks up at you within a few moments.

“Santana…” she trails off, shrugging helplessly. “I—I don’t... Please don’t _leave_ me. We can _fix_ this,” she insists, reaching forward and grabbing your hand.  
 You feel how warm it is, the soft skin pressing against yours making your heart beat fast.

You pull away.

“I don’t want to,” you say quietly, and she starts to cry again. “I want what’s best for you, Britt. You’re my best friend. You always will be. I want to see you happy, I want to see your dreams come true. You can’t do that with me, anymore.”

“I c-can’t do any of it without you, Santana. _Please_ , I—“

You hold up your hand to stop her and you’re surprised when she does.  She looks at you and you have a hard time keeping your eyes are her sad blue ones.

“You’re really doing this?” she asks, and you nod.

“I have to,” you say quietly. She blinks for a second, as if remembering _why_ it is you’re doing this in the first place, and the she looks even sadder.

“I’m so s-sorry I hurt you,” she says, and your resolve finally breaks enough to pull her into a hug. Her body molds to yours as if it knows that this is the last time she’ll get to be held by you.

“It just couldn’t work out, Britt,” you say. It sounds like it’s way too simple, but it’s the truth.

She shakes her head in protest against your shoulder, but doesn’t try to argue anymore. You can tell by the way she’s slumped against you that the fight is gone out of her.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, pulling away. She doesn’t move, just lets her arms fall against her sides and stares at the same spot on the floor.

You press a kiss to her forehead, something that makes your heart ache even more than you felt possible but you’re pretty sure it would have killed you not to do it. She wraps her arms around herself and she looks so small, standing there.

“I love you,” she says just as you reach the door, and you almost don’t hear it. This time, you don’t respond.

 


	2. Chapter Two

You know you should have seen it coming.

 

At first you blame her, because _Jesus,_ Santana-- how could she have let you hurt her that badly for so long without telling you somewhere along the way?

 

You realize later on that you would have done the exact same thing in her shoes. She didn't say anything because she loved you and she wanted you to be happy, and you take some comfort in that.

 

Despite her best efforts, however, you don't learn how to be happy without her for a while.

 

The first night by yourself in the apartment is the hardest.

 

The space feels so much bigger without her there, and you swear you keep hearing her voice, the sound of her footsteps in the hallway and you know, you believe with all your heart, that any minute now she's going to walk back through that door.

 

You try to stay up through the whole first night just to make sure you won't miss it when she comes back. Maybe she'll say she's sorry she left. Maybe she'll realize you can work this out if she just lets you try. Maybe she'll crawl under the covers with you, kissing your face before pulling your arms around her so you're holding her as closely as possible, and you'll realize that everything that happened was just a nightmare, an awful, awful dream.

 

You've never once given up on Santana during all of your time together, and you don't know what to do now that she's given up _for_ you. Mostly, you just cry.

 

You fall asleep with the sheets wrapped tightly around you, in the bed that you shared far too few nights together in. You wonder how many hours she's spent like this, wishing you were there, your absence trailing tears down her cheeks. When you finally do fall asleep, the image of her laying here, alone and sad ( _like you are now_ ), leaves restless dreams charging through your mind.

 

You wake up to your phone ringing the next morning.

 

By the time you realize it may be Santana you've already pressed the green button, your sleep-addled brain desperate to get the noise to stop as quickly as possible.

 

"Brittany?"

 

It isn't Santana, but at least it's a familiar voice.

 

"Kurt," you reply, falling back into your pillow. There's silence for a few seconds.

 

"Hey, Britt," he responds, his voice lower and quieter than usual. You've talked to Kurt countless times on the phone before, but you can't remember ever hearing that tone in his voice. He sounds sad, and you realize how badly this breakup is going to affect everyone involved.

 

"Hi," you answer just as quietly, and your voice sounds tired from crying. You hear him sigh on the other side.

 

"Listen, I know this is a rough time…" he starts, but you don't let him finish his thought.

 

"Have you seen her? Is she with you?" 

 

"No… she's at Rachel's. That's actually why I'm calling. Santana asked me to stop by and pick up a few of her things."

 

It makes your chest ache in a whole different way when you realize Santana doesn't want to come by the apartment herself. It feels more final than you're willing to admit, and you try to take your mind off it by replying, "When will you be here?"

 

"I'm just a few blocks away getting some coffee. I'll pick you up one and be there in about… twenty five?"

 

You tell Kurt that's fine and hang up the phone. It drops against your mattress, thudding as it bounces a couple of times. You close your eyes and feel the tears push against them, your head throbbing with the memory of everything that's gone wrong in the past twenty-four hours. You take a few deep breaths and push all those thoughts from your mind-- they can wait until after Kurt leaves.

 

You decide to pack Santana's bag for her, because you know no matter _how_ desperate she is, the last thing she would want is to have Kurt in charge of her wardrobe. 

 

You pull out some outfits for school, and you feel something tug at your heart when you realize that you no longer recognize all of her clothing. A lot of this stuff is new, and you're not sure what she wears most often, but you think you have a pretty good idea (you have known her since sixth grade, after all).

 

You throw in a couple of "laundry-day" outfits, oddly colored sweatpants and loose sweaters that you've had since high school, the ones that you'd wear only in the comfort of your own apartment. You pack only enough clothes for about a week, and hope that she'll come herself to get more when she runs out.

 

You have your face buried in your favorite sweatshirt of hers when you hear Kurt knocking at the front door. You don't know what happened-- you promised yourself you wouldn't cry. Somewhere between the old memories of entire weekends spent in sweatpants, cuddling and watching movies, and realizing that you're never again going to know all the details of Santana's life, like what she has inside of her closet, you felt something break inside of you.

 

"Brittany?" you hear Kurt call through the door. He's been out there for about a minute now, but you've been unable to force yourself to move.

 

You mop your face against the sleeves of the sweatshirt, sniffling as you do so. You know it's going to look as if you've been crying, but you decide that Kurt must be expecting it if he's coming over the morning after the love of your life told you it was too painful to be with you anymore.

 

You drag your feet out of your room and through the living room, opening the door just as Kurt starts to call your name again. His fist falls from the door when he sees you, taking in your appearance for a second before muttering "oh, honey," and embracing you tightly. You're not sure how long you stand there, with Kurt's hands rubbing comforting patterns across your back, but you've spent the entire time unmoving, buried in the crook of his neck. 

 

"Have you eaten anything?" he asks, and you think it's a strange question to ask a crying friend before you realize that he probably has no idea how to help you, and he's trying to take care of you the only way he knows how. You shake your head, and he pulls back and takes your hand, pulling you into the kitchen. 

 

He ushers you onto a barstool, and places a cardboard cup in front of you on the counter. 

 

"I got your favorite," he offers with a hopeful smile. "Blueberry coffee with extra vanilla creamer. That's right, isn't it?" 

 

He seems so nervous that you almost laugh. You don't, but you do manage to smile and nod, reaching out to grab the cup. You don't feel like drinking coffee, because it might snap you out of this fog and then you'd have to actually _think_ , but you don't want to make Kurt feel bad, so you raise the cup to your lips and take a long drink, "mmh"-ing as you swallow. 

 

"Thanks," you say, and the warm liquid has soothed your voice so it's no longer cracking from exhaustion. 

 

He doesn't respond, just looks at you with an uncomfortable smile for a few moments before he begins to look concerned. 

 

"Britt," he says, reaching forward to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "You look exhausted. Did you sleep?" 

 

You nod. 

 

"How much?" 

 

You realize that you have no idea how long you were asleep for. It could have been anywhere from a half hour to ten hours, so you just shrug instead. 

 

He looks as if he's about to hug you again, and you honestly wouldn't mind because you don't know who you're going to have to hug when you're upset anymore, but instead he just turns around and grabs the loaf of bread off the counter. 

 

"Toast?" he offers, barely registering your nod before popping the pieces into the toaster. A few uncomfortable seconds pass, the sound of the toaster clicking filling the room.

 

"Look, Britt…" he finally says, his back to you. He turns around and the concerned look is back on his face, and you feel bad because you don't think he wants to be doing this at all. 

 

"I really don't know how to deal with this sort of thing," he offers. "But if you want to talk about it… I think you should, you know?"

 

You nod slowly, slightly confused by what he's saying. Does he want you to talk to someone other than him? 

 

"So…" he trails off, walking towards you to lean across the counter, his eyes now on level with yours. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

 

You blink at him for a moment before dropping his gaze, your eyes tracing the cracked pattern in the wooden countertop before shrugging. 

 

"You don't know?" he asks. "Well, Britt, I'm sure you know more than I do. Try to explain?"

 

You chuckle lowly and shake your head. 

 

"I don't think I know more than you do at all, actually," you say sadly, and he frowns. 

 

"What do you mean?" he asks, and you sigh. 

 

"I mean… has Santana been lonely without me here?" you say, before realizing that isn't quite what you wanted to know. She wouldn't seem _lonely_ , exactly. She had Kurt and Rachel after all. "Has she been sad?" 

 

"Britt…" he begins, but sighs heavily before continuing. "I'm really not sure that it's my place to tell you that sort of thing." 

 

You nod, but you take it as answer enough. 

 

"She told me she's been sad without me. And that she can't be with me anymore because of it," you explain simply. Kurt nods his head as though he already knew that's what you were going to tell him. You have a feeling he did know, that Santana has told Kurt and Rachel this several times over the past few months (even though she didn't tell you), but Kurt doesn't want to get Santana in trouble or make things awkward. 

 

"But you understand that it isn't your fault, right?" he asks gently. 

 

You shake your head.

 

"Brittany, it just wasn't the right time for you guys. Somethings just don't work out," he explains, and the words sound oddly familiar. You realize that Santana said them yesterday before she left, and it occurs to you that she may have sent Kurt here with these reassurances for you. Santana is always looking out for you like that. 

 

"Yeah," you sigh, you lips pulling to one side of your mouth. "I get that. It… it still hurts, though. I just, I wasn't expecting it at all and it was so sudden--" 

 

"Not for her," he interrupts, and his eyes widen as he realizes he's said more than he probably should have.

 

"What?" you ask, and he thinks for a moment before deciding to continue. 

 

"It was sudden for you, Britt, because you were on tour, busy every minute of every day. You didn't have the time to realize what was going on with her. But honey, she was so alone. It wasn't sudden at all, for her, the sadness and the realization that she was going to have to let you go. She had to sit with it for months. It tortured her, Britt."

 

You're not sure what part of that was supposed to be comforting, but you're glad that he said it nonetheless. You want to know everything that you did to Santana, because later when you're alone your sadness might turn into anger, and that's the last thing you want. You don't think Santana deserves for you to be mad at her at all. Knowing why she did this will help you understand, and if you understand her you won't be angry, only sad. 

 

Your eyes aren't as dry as you'd like them to be by the time he finishes talking. He looks at you pitifully for a moment, knowing he's gone too far, but is soon distracted when the toast pops out with a _ding!_

You eat mostly in silence, and you don't mind because you're pretty sure that you're close to breaking down again at this point and you really want to save that until after Kurt leaves. 

 

The toast is cinnamon raisin swirl, and you try to focus on how good and familiar it tastes, like _home_ , before you realize that it only feels that way because you used to eat it every morning for breakfast. Santana doesn't like cinnamon raisin bread, though, and you think that she must've gone shopping for you before she left to make sure you weren't sad and alone in the apartment with nothing to eat. You eat the rest of it quickly, shoving it into your mouth until it becomes bland, not taking the time to appreciate the flavor.

 

You finish first, so you get up to rinse off your dish and put it in the dishwasher yourself (you don't want to seem _completely_ pathetic, after all). Kurt joins you a few moments later, and you wait by the sink while he wipes the crumbs off his plate. 

 

"So, she just wanted me to grab some clothes for her, if you don't mind?" Kurt says, and you nod and walk towards your room. 

 

"I already packed a bag," you explain. He mades a small, sad noise of recognition, but doesn't say anything else. 

 

The bag is sitting on your bed, practically bursting at the seams with how many clothes it's holding. 

 

"Just one second," you tell him, and walk around the room picking up some of her things -- her contact solution, some of her hair ties, her makeup bag -- and shove them inside as tightly as you can. 

 

Kurt watches you do this, moving forward to help you zip the bag up when the zipper gets stuck on one of the shirts stuffed inside. 

 

"Phew!" he exclaims when you finally get it closed, and you chuckle at his attempt to lighten the mood. You appreciate that he's trying, you do. You and Kurt were never completely close, and it means a lot to you that he's gone out of his way for you (and Santana). 

 

He picks up the bag and slings it over his shoulder, dramatically falling to the side at the weight of it. You look at the bed, and make a last second decision. 

 

"Wait," you tell him, and pick up the sweatshirt. It's worn out, despite the fact that it's only two years old. You and Santana bought it the first time you visited NYU together. You wore it most of the time, but you can tell it's seen a lot of use in the year you've been gone. 

 

"Take this too," you say, holding it out to him. His eyes land on it for a few moments, and he looks uncertainly at you when he recognizes it. 

 

"Are you sure?" he asks, and you nod. Having it around would just make you sad, anyway, and you don't want to take one of Santana's favorite shirts away from her. There are plenty of things in the apartment to remind you of her without it. 

 

He takes it, slinging it over his shoulder. You walk him awkwardly to the door, following behind him slowly as he waddles under the weight of the bag. 

 

"Thank you, Britt," he says softly when you reach the door. You nod in response and lean in to give him a one-armed hug, making sure not to put any extra weight on him. 

 

"I'll see you around. Stay in touch, alright?" 

 

"I will," you respond, and smile sadly. "Just make sure… take care of her for me, okay? If she's sad, just… take care of her."

 

He nods, and you hope he'll be better at comforting her than he was at comforting you. It's one of the moments in your life you're grateful that Santana and Rachel had become such close friends, because Santana doesn't like cinnamon raisin toast and you're not sure how else Kurt could help her. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next chapter, we'll move on, both time-wise and plot-wise. Hold tight. Also follow me if you want updates on what I'm doing, previews of the chapter, or just to talk to me about all the Brittana/Glee things!

 

* * *

You show up at Rachel's apartment just before ten p.m. You could have taken a cab, but you walked the whole way there instead. You didn't trust yourself not to break down, alone in the dark backseat of a taxi. You're pretty sure you get lost in your thoughts a few times along the way, because Rachel doesn't live more than twenty minutes by foot and it takes you almost an hour to get there, but you don't care. On the streets, you walked with you head held high, your best poker face on, preserving your strength if only for a few more minutes.

It doesn't last for more than ten seconds once Rachel opens the door. She takes a few minutes to answer your incessant knocking, and when the door finally swings open you can see why. She's in a robe, and her face is wet, with splotches of cream dotting her skin. You've interrupted her nightly routine, and you make a mental note to apologize later, before you begin to cry.

She knows what's wrong immediately. She was the one who was there for you, after all, when you realized what you were going to have to do when Brittany got back. She had tried her hardest to try and think of a way to keep the two of you together, but eventually accepted that this was for the best, for both of you. She offered her apartment to you right away, and thank _god_ , because you're pretty sure you couldn't have survived the next two weeks on the couch with Brittany crying in the next room. 

Rachel pulls you into her arms, and you're grateful for her terrycloth robe as your tears fall into her shoulder. 

"There, there," she says as she pats your back, and you resist the urge to swat at her for being so cliche. You remember how thankful you are to have her as a friend, however, when her arms tighten around you as you begin to sob. 

She guides you forward, shutting the door behind you, and keeps her arm against your back as she ushers you into her living room. The apartment is small, way smaller than yours, but you've spent so much time here in the past months when your apartment was empty and lonely, that its close walls have transformed from cramped into cosy.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, once you've settled into the couch. You take a moment before shaking your head. 

You don't want to talk about it, not right now.

Right now, you want some wine. 

She chuckles darkly when you tell her as much, and she asks if you would mind if she called Kurt to see if he could come over. You tell her you'd like that, and she leaves the room and returns with a large bottle of red, announcing that Kurt will be there in ten. 

You stare at the ceiling as you wait for him, and you're surprised that your glass is empty by the time you hear the doorbell ring. You don't remember drinking the wine, but as you stand to move towards the door, you definitely can begin to feel its effects. 

"Oh, honey," he says when Rachel opens the door and he sees you behind her. "Did you do it?"

You nod, and he makes a face that's a cross between a frown and a pout. 

"Oh, honey," he repeats, and the next thing you know both of them are on you, hugging you from either side. You've never been particularly physically affectionate with either of them, and your initial reaction is to pull away, but you find yourself hugging them back. 

"Thank you," you say softly. 

* * *

You're halfway done with the bottle of wine when Rachel asks: "Did you pack a bag?" 

You nearly want to hit yourself it's so stupid, because _Jesus_ , Santana, you spent hours alone at home this afternoon, trying not to think of what you were going to have to do later. The least you could have done was to pack a bag.  

"Fuck," you swear, and Kurt laughs. He's been enjoying the wine with you, too. Rachel has class the next morning, and has resigned herself to cranberry juice instead of alcohol.

No, really though, _fuck_ , you realize a second later, because Brittany is probably going to be home the entire two weeks before she leaves and you would literally buy an entire closet full of clothes before borrowing anything from  _Berry's_  wardrobe to wear in public. 

"I can see if I can pick up some of your stuff tomorrow?" Kurt offers, and you want to kiss him. 

They're both being so good to you, and you know you don't deserve it. You're the one that fucked this up-- they should be over there, helping Brittany, but they're here holding you together. You don't feel right about it, at all, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. 

The three of you end up watching trashy TV shows all night long. Kurt and Rachel keep up a commentary, trying to make you smile, but mostly you try to block everything out as you sit in the corner and stare into the bottom of your glass. 

* * *

"I can't believe I broke up with her," you say, tearfully. You don't know how much you've had to drink or what time it is, but Rachel went to bed long ago and it's just you and Kurt, sitting on the couch, resting your heads against each other's shoulders. It's been silent for a while, and you're not sure if he's fallen asleep, but he sighs when he hears your words and straightens up, turning to look at you. 

"Do you regret it?" he asks.  

You don't know. 

"I feel so selfish," you explain. "I shouldn't have done any of this. I just… didn't know what I was getting myself into. She wanted to stay, she didn't want to go on tour. Have I told you that?" Kurt nods. "She wanted to stay and I made her go and now I couldn't handle the distance. I'm awful," you conclude, and Kurt wraps his arm around your shoulder to comfort you.  

Your eyes are blurry from hours of tears and wine and your contacts are still in even though it's at least three in the morning. You're crying again now, you think. You don't bother to check. 

"You aren't awful. You're human. You love Brittany, and she loves you, but life got in the way," he tries to explain, but you shake your head. 

"Life has always gotten in the way for us. I've always fought for her. I fought for her so hard but now I feel like I just don't have a choice and I've hurt her so badly. You should have seen her face, Kurt, she... I fought for her, I made her fall in love with me, and now I'm just leaving her and she thinks its all her fucking fault and I, I j-just--" 

You know you're crying now, because you break off into a sob. 

"I don't want this," you say sadly. You must sound pathetic, because he lets out a long sigh. 

"I know, honey," he says, rubbing soft circles against your arms. "I know."

* * *

You wake up and your back hurts. You try to open your eyes, but it's bright ( _so_ bright), so you end up squinting instead. You go to throw your hand over your eyes to block the light when you hear hushed voices in the hall. 

"How was Brittany?"

"She seemed… well, she wasn't as bad as Santana. She had been crying before I got there, but she had it together. She seemed to really understand what I was saying about it not being her fault, and she was just concerned with making sure Santana is all right. I think she might be coming to terms with it faster than we all expected." 

"What makes you say that?" 

"She gave me this."

"She just… gave it to you? Did she explain?"

"No. Do you think it means anything?"

"Wow. I don't know. Should we tell her?" 

You feel awkward, because now they're talking about you but don't know you're listening. Then again, they shouldn't have been trying to hide anything from you in the first place.

"Mh, tell me what?" you ask, rolling over on the couch and trying to make your voice sound sleepy, as if you haven't been awake this entire time. Kurt is holding something behind his back, and Rachel is smiling at you. 

"Oh, nothing. Kurt just got back from you-- Brittany's place. He got your bag!" Rachel said, grabbing the duffel from Kurt's feet and holding it up. 

"Wow, Hummel, I'm surprised. None of these outfits are completely outrageous. Good job," you remark, sifting through the contents of the bag. A lot of the clothes are what you wear on a daily basis-- comfortable things that you can wear to class. Kurt always looked appalled if you wore anything too casual outside of the apartment. You even made the mistake of wearing sweatpants to a lecture, once. He lectured you later that day when you met up for lunch.

"Actually, Brittany packed the bag for you," Kurt says, and your head snaps up in surprise. No wonder the bag was packed perfectly. Even though she had been away for a year, Brittany obviously hadn't forgotten how you liked to dress. Still, why would she do that for you? 

"Uh… she also… she gave me this." 

Kurt is holding out a rumpled ball, and it takes you a moment to recognize it. 

It's the sweater. 

Brittany gave you back the fucking sweater. 

You don't know why you thought she would have wanted to keep it, but something about seeing it here makes your heart ache. It was your sweater, sure, but Brittany had always stolen it from you, wearing it at every opportunity. You asked her why, once. She told you it felt like she was carrying a little piece of your love with her everywhere she went. She said it smelled like you, even months after you had stopped wearing it and it had become hers. You told her it was impossible, but she insisted.

You understood why once she left. You wore that sweater many times over her year-long absence, and every time you felt like you could feel her there with you, even if it was just a little bit. 

You don't want the goddamn sweater back. Maybe you should just throw it out. 

You reach forward and grab it out of Kurt's hands, intending to throw it in the pile with your other things, but the second you grab it, you can feel it: Brittany. You can sense that she's worn it since you last have, and it makes you even sadder. You can see her, wearing your sweatshirt and crying, and it reminds you of how mad you are at yourself for all of this. 

You tuck the hoodie between your arms and your chest and squeeze, resisting the urge to bury your face in the soft fabric in hopes of feeling her there with you. 

"I'm sorry," you hear Kurt say quietly. You nod, lying back down against the couch cushions, and close your eyes. 

* * *

 

You spend most of the weekend sleeping instead of grieving. It turns out to be a bad idea when you're forced to be conscious come Monday. You have class, and even though you go and mindlessly take notes, you don't end up paying attention to what the professor is talking about. He's a real life Professor Binns, and you have no chance of following anything he's saying if you're the least bit distracted.

Brittany had called you Saturday morning. You didn't answer, not because you didn't want to talk to her, but because you didn't know what to say. You listened to her voicemail over and over, heard her stumbling over your name and how foreign it sounded for her message not to be riddled with love. 

You've considered calling her back so many times since then, but you know you have to stick to your guns on this one. You know if you go back on what you said, if you get back together with her and she goes on tour, that it could end up hurting even worse. You might not be able to handle the distance anymore, and you're not sure if you could break up with Brittany twice, for both your and her sake. 

And you won't let her quit her job for you. Brittany is a star. She doesn't know it yet, but you certainly do, and you can't let her give up on that. Especially not just to be with you.  

* * *

 

You make your way through classes the entire week this way. You sleep on Rachel's couch every night, and your back is starting to hurt all day long now. You're tired, in pain, and miserable, and you just want to go _home_ and curl up into a ball, but you can't let yourself do that for at least another week and a half. You know you promised Brittany you'd be out of there right away, but you at least have until she gets back from tour to move out. Come to think of it, you don't actually know how long this next one is going to be. You make a mental note to see if Kurt can get that information for you. 

You pass by the apartment a couple of times on your way to Rachel's apartment. Every night, you see the lights on in the windows and you think about going and talking to her. It's nice to know, at the very least, that she's _there_ , even if you can't go be with her. 

Friday night, the windows are dark. It's strange, because even though it's well past dark outside, it's not yet late enough that Brittany would have gone to bed. You don't know how to feel about the idea that she may be out right now, hanging out with friends, and not in anywhere near as much pain as you are. In a way, you prefer it that way. 

You make a last minute decision when you've walked just half a block past the apartment. You glance up at the windows one more time, making sure that you definitely had the right ones and no one is home, before spinning on your heel, walking up to the apartment, and using your key to open the door.

Brittany packed a lot of your clothes in that bag, and you're super grateful, but you know it won't last forever and you'd like to be able to grab the stuff yourself while you're here. 

It's surreal, walking into the apartment. She hasn't changed anything at all. If you were her, you would have taken down the pictures, rearranged the furniture. At the very least, you would have moved her shoes away from the door. But you're still smiling down from the walls, and your Converse are haphazardly laying in the hallway.

You make your way into the bedroom, trying to gather as much information about what Brittany has been doing as possible along the way. There are movie cases scattered on the coffee table in the living room, next to a box of tissues. Nothing has been tidied since you left-- the blankets are shoved in a corner of the couch, and some of your bedroom pillows are propped against the arm of it. It's obvious she's been spending a lot of time in here, and you don't know what to make of that. 

Your room is much cleaner than the living room. The bed is made, and nothing is out of place. It seems so normal it makes your heart break just a little bit more. 

Brittany's journal is sitting in plain sight on her nightstand. You take several moments staring at it, wishing it would magically fall open and you could accidentally see its pages. It's the only way you'd ever get to read its contents, after all. You'd never invade Britt's privacy like that. 

You grab a few more of your shirts, the important ones that Brittany overlooked or simply didn't know about. You put them in one of your tote bags that you pull from out of your closet. You try to take mostly t-shirts, things that will fold up small to fit into your bag. You end up getting about five of them in there before the thing is visibly stuffed. You figure it's enough for now. 

You walk into the kitchen. Theres a notepad lying on the counter, the one you used to use to keep track of groceries, and you notice Brittany's been doodling on it. Most people like to read things absentmindedly while they eat their breakfast (backs of cereal boxes, magazines, newspapers). Brittany likes to draw. You miss her childlike innocence and how it made your world a brighter place. 

You flip the page over and grab the pen off the counter. You don't know what to write, but you feel like it'd be creepy if you just broke into the house without telling her. 

 _Brittany_ , 

_I stopped by to pick up a few more things. I was hoping you'd be home so I could get to say goodbye, but I guess this note will have to do instead. I hope you do well on your tour. Please keep Rachel or Kurt updated on what you're doing. One of them might stop by during the week for a few more of my things._

_I'm sorry I never returned your phone call. I didn't know what to say._

_I miss you, too._

_Santana_

It feels awkward and insincere, and you end up ripping it from the pad and crumpling it in a little ball in your fist. She isn't going to notice any of your things missing, anyway. You realize how cruel it might seem to her that you would dodge her calls, not call her back, and show up at the apartment when she's not there leaving behind nothing but a note. You don't want that.

You decide it'd be better if she never knew you were here. You grab your bag, step carefully over your shoes in the hall, and lock the door behind you as you leave. 

* * *

You've been dreading looking at apartments this whole week, but Rachel is finally forcing you to. 

"It's not that I want you gone," she explained. "I just think it would be really beneficial for you to get out, start making a home for yourself again, you know?"

 _A home without Brittany…_  your add in your mind, but you nod anyway.

You're out to coffee with them at Rachel's favorite spot. She's brought at least five newspapers with her, and she's pouring over the apartment listings. She scoffed at you when you weren't looking for yourself, but you just told her she was going to be such a control freak about it anyway that anything that you found wouldn't be good enough for her. 

You appreciate the fact that you can still tease Rachel even though you're much closer now. Your friendship would have gotten very boring by now otherwise. 

Kurt is staring at his phone, concentrating on texting someone. You make like you're going to peer over the top of his phone to see the conversation, but mostly you're just joking around. He swats your hand away, and you can't help but laugh. You haven't seen him so involved in a text conversation since him and Blaine broke up, and you can't help but say: "Trying to set up a hot date for tonight?" 

Kurt rolls his eyes at you, but goes back to typing on his phone. You frown.

"C'mon, Berry needs your help picking out my apartment. I need my gay best friend, she could pick out something absolutely hideous."

An eyebrow is quirked in your direction, but he puts the phone down after that. 

"You know, you could avoid that if maybe you helped look yourself," he comments, but you aren't listening at that point.

"Is that… Brittany?" you ask, half standing in your chair to get a better look. Whoever it is, you can only see them from behind, but you've gotten pretty good at know exactly what Brittany looks like at practically any angle…

"No, no, it couldn't be. Oh, look at this one!" Kurt says, pointing to a random listening on the page. You glance down for a moment, only for long enough to see that he's pointing at a four bedroom apartment on the other side of town. When you look up, the girl has turned a corner.  

You sigh. Brittany is leaving tomorrow, and even though you've sworn off talking to her, the thought of seeing her excited you. You're not as pathetic as you were two weeks ago (you get out of bed on a daily basis, now). But you still cry yourself to sleep most nights, and anytime something reminds you too much of her you often have to excuse yourself for a minute. 

"She's leaving tomorrow, huh?" 

It's Rachel who says it, and you can see the glare that Kurt shoots her way. Kurt has been trying to let you live in a bubble where Brittany doesn't exist. You know he's just looking out for you, but you don't think you're going to get over her by pretending you never knew her in the first place. 

You nod slowly, your eyes not leaving the newspaper in front of you.

"Are you going to say goodbye?" 

You shake you head.

"We've already said our goodbyes, Rachel." 

She sighs audibly. 

"That doesn't count, really. You were all emotional, you had just broken up. You should say goodbye to her properly. At least send her a text or something. God only knows when you'll get to again." 

You can't help but roll your eyes at your friends dramatic attitude.

"Rachel, she's leaving for four months, she's not dropping off the face of the planet. I'll be much more ready to talk to her when she gets back," you say, even though you're not entirely sure that it's true. In a perfect world, you'd be able to be friends with Brittany even if you're not in a relationship anymore. Scratch that, in a perfect world you would never have had to leave her in the first place. Oh well. 

Rachel shrugs, but knows that you don't want to discuss it any further. She's gotten a lot better at not intentionally pushing peoples' buttons since you all moved out to New York. 

You keep your eyes trained on the street anyway, waiting to see if the girl would reappear, but she never does. 

* * *

If you thought picking up a bag of your things from the apartment was surreal, this beats it by at least tenfold. You have as many cardboard boxes as you could scavenge up between the three of you, and you're collecting all the things that belong to you and throwing them haphazardly into a pile for Rachel to sort through. You try to leave as many commonly shared things as you can behind (pots, pans, etc.). You can always buy more later. Your family was always much better off than Brittany's, and you've barely put a dent in your mother's money between your own job and financial aid. 

You pack your movies and your CDs, because you're anticipating spending many lonely nights in this apartment. You grab your books, too, and roll up a few of the posters that you've had since you were a teenager. You pack the rest of your clothes into two suitcases that Rachel and Kurt lent you. 

You found a place that is actually on the same block as Kurt's apartment. Rachel will be moving in with him after the semester is over, so you're really excited that you'll get to be so close to your friends. Overall, your space is smaller, but it's separated into more rooms, so you feel like you have a lot more to work with. Plus, it's going to be just you in the small apartment, and you're pretty sure you don't take up that much space. 

You were hoping that Brittany had maybe left something for you, a note, anything to acknowledge that you were going to be in the apartment, moving your things out, but no such luck. You suppose you can't blame her after not leaving a note when you visited. You pray she didn't notice you were there, because you're pretty sure knowing that would have hurt her feelings, no matter what the justification.

All in all, it only take you about an hour and a half to get all your stuff. Rachel made sure that all your boxes were securely taped and properly labeled. Rachel has a friend with a car, and he's offered to help you drive your boxes over to the new place. Rachel drives with him in the car, and you and Kurt take the subway because the boxes take up so much of the seating space. 

By the time you meet them there, the stuff is already unloaded out of the car and they've brought a few boxes up. Well, at least, Rachel's man-friend has. Rachel is sitting at the bottom of the stairs, "watching over your belongings." You and Kurt pitch in, and you have the rest of your things upstairs within three trips. The friend excuses himself afterwards, and you try your best to seem sincere when you thank him. You've always had trouble with that.  

You don't have much. You have an air mattress that Rachel is letting you borrow to sleep on until your real bed gets delivered next week, and you have pillows strewn about the floor in place of a couch. You bought styrofoam cups, just for this occasion, and you laugh when Rachel pulls out a cheap bottle of wine from 7-11.

"The epitome of class," you comment, after you all toast with your styrofoam cups. 

"Bleck, this taste like grape juice," Kurt says, sticking out his tongue. Rachel hums in appreciation, finishing the rest of her drink in one long sip. 

"It's delicious!" she exclaims, and you and Kurt roll your eyes. 

You decide to order a pizza, and they stick around for a couple more hours after you've polished off the pie. 

When they leave, you take a moment to really look at your new home. The walls are white, bare, with the occasional crack near the ceiling. It has a kitchen, a combined living room and dining room, a bedroom, a full bathroom, and a small nook where you can keep a desk and a bookshelf. All in all, the amount of space is perfect for you. The floor is wooden, old but still shiny, which you like. You have an old rug that you think will go great in the living room area, and you're glad you won't have to buy a very big table for the dining room, because otherwise people would be eating with their backs pressed against the wall. Since it'll probably just be the three of you, a small table will do just fine. 

The bedroom is small. It doesn't have very much closet space, which sucks, because you have a lot of clothes. You figure you'll have to get a wardrobe of some sort to fit it all, but you're not sure how that's going to work either. 

You change into your pajamas, wanting to get as comfortable as possible in your new place. 

You decide you might want to get a full-sized bed instead of a queen, because the queen air mattress you've blown up nearly takes up the entire room. You flop onto it, laughing at the cheap quality as you nearly hit the ground. You never thought you'd be saying this, but you miss Rachel's couch. 

You sigh before pulling out your phone. You stare at it. You know you shouldn't, but you can't help it as you unlock the screen, punching a familiar number into your text message box. It's only polite to let the person you've been living with that you officially no longer live with them, after all. 

_Hey, just letting you know I'm all moved out. I found an apartment near Kurt's._

Your words seem a bit too conversational for your liking, but you send it anyway. Your heart races as you wait for a response, and you exhale a sigh of relief when your phone buzzes not a minute later.

 _Oh, ok. Do you like it?_ The message reads. 

You type out, _yes,_ but before you get to send it your phone is buzzing again. 

 _Are you happy?_  

You pull your lip between your teeth before sending your message without changing it. You don't specify which question you were answering, but Brittany responds anyway.

_I'm glad. I miss you._

Her admission brings tears to your eyes. You feel so happy just to see those words, and you hate yourself for it. You'll be breaking her heart for nothing if you've left her and you aren't able to get over it. It would all be worthless. 

 _You too, Brittany._  You respond. It feels cold, and she doesn't send anything else afterwards. 

You let your phone drop to your side, and don't move from that spot again, sinking into sleep, surrounded by the familiar sounds of the city, as the air mattress deflates slowly beneath you. 

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: SO MUCH ANGST GOING ON IN THE FANDOM RIGHT NOW KIDS. That being said, I would like to assure you that Brittana is endgame, both in the show and in this fic. We're just… going through some character building. Together. Right? They're testing us. They're making us stronger as a fandom and making us love them as a couple more. This too shall pass, and standing in the light at the end of the tunnel there will be beautiful Brittana babies everywhere and everything will be marshmallows and unicorns and sunshine. Okay? 
> 
> I'm sorry for my ramblings. Here's the latest. Try your hardest not to get mad at Santana. You'll get her perspective next chapter. Though if you are feeling angry or upset or any range of emotions, feel free to talk to me about it on here or on my tumblr iam-your-opus.tumblr.com. If you wanna be scared for next week with me, or want to come comfort me the closer we get to next Thursday, please don't be afraid to leave me an ask or a message. I love talking to people, I promise. 
> 
> This will be kind of fast moving, because it’s a sort of “in-between” time.

 

You aren't happy on the tour. You were hoping that you'd be so distracted again that you'd forget about what had happened enough to be happy. Isn't that what happened last time?  
  
Now she's all that's on your mind. For the first month, you hold this romantic belief that she's going to show up one night after one of your performances, tell you that you danced beautifully and kiss you. She doesn't, of course, and every once in a while you'll come to your senses and realize how silly that idea is. Still, it's usually one of the last thoughts on your mind before you fall asleep every night.  
  
You make friends with some of the dancers, but you don't tell them about Santana. You think you'd eventually start crying if they asked you what had happened, and you don't want them to think you're weird. Instead, you keep to yourself. You go out with them when they invite you, make polite conversation and laugh at their jokes. They call you a sweetheart and some of them even get your number and text you when they're bored about boys or the routines or plans for that night. You're glad you have friends, but you don't feel any sort of emotional connection to them.  
  
One of the guys, Charlie, likes you. You can tell because he always volunteers to be your partner during all the shows, and texts you just to talk the most out of any of your friends. At first you thought that maybe he just liked the way you dance or wanted to be closer with you, but then you went out with him and a few of the other dancers after a show one night. You went to a bar, and Charlie got a little drunk. He flirted with you and kept his arm around the back of your chair the entire evening. He told you he thought you were beautiful and asked you to dance.  
  
You miss being able to push guys like that off with an "I have a girlfriend." Still, Charlie isn't a bad guy and he isn't being outright flirtatious, you've just always had a sense for when people were starting to get more than friendly towards you. If he made a move, you'd reject him, obviously. For now, you weren't going to put yourself at odds with the only people keeping your sane on tour by telling him to back off.  
  
Instead, you just tell him that you’re tired from that night’s show. He says he’ll get you next time, and you don’t tell him no.  
  
A few nights later, you get a text from Santana. You weren’t really expecting her to contact you, with the way things left off. You had decided that if you hadn’t heard from her by the end of the second month, you’d contact her yourself. But, your phone is buzzing in your hand barely two weeks after you left for tour, and your heart is racing when you see Santana’s name on the screen.  
  
It sinks a moment later.  
  
She’s moved out. She is just texting you to let you know. She’s found an apartment near Kurt, which you’re glad for. It’s good she’s staying close to Rachel and Kurt. It means that Kurt can make good on his promise to take care of her for you.  
  
You text her back and ask if she likes her new place. You get angry with yourself the second you press send, because that isn’t _really_ what you want to know. You’re talking to Santana for the first time in weeks and you’re asking her silly questions, and god only knows how long she’s going to carry a conversation with you for. You should be asking her something important while you have the chance.  
  
 _Are you happy?_ you type instead, and send it immediately. A little check mark appears next to it, and you know she's received it. You wait nervously for a reply, before you phone vibrates again.  
  
 _Yes,_ it says simply, and you're not sure whether or not she's replying to your first question or your second one. You wait another full minute before deciding that that was the only answer you'd be receiving from her, no matter which question it was answering.  
  
 _I'm glad,_ you write out, and go to press send. Your finger hovers over the button. You figure this will be the end of your conversation, because she didn't really want to talk to you. She was just being polite, as your ex-roommate, and letting you know she'd found a new place. You don't know when the next time you'll get to talk to her is, and you don't want to waste this.  
  
 _I miss you_ , you add, and before you have time to second-guess yourself you press the send button.  
  
You're nervous. You don't want to make her feel awkward or sad because of your admission, but you want her to know it so badly that you just couldn't help but say it. You regret it when she responds.  
  
 _You too, Brittany._  
  
She uses your full name. She rarely ever does that, especially not when saying something sweet and sincere, like “I love you,” or “I miss you.” But then again, that isn’t what she said. All you got was a “you too.”  
  
You drop your phone onto your bed before burying yourself into your pillow.  
  
Maybe she just doesn’t want to give you false hope. Maybe she’s already forgotten about you. You don’t know, but the distance in her text brings tears to your eyes. That night you don’t fall asleep with hopeful fantasies.  


* * *

 

You’re glad when your friends invite you out again a few days later, because you’ve been spending the past few nights re-watching sad movies and eating junk food.

  
You drink more than you probably should, and you feel bad, because you know you shouldn’t be drinking your problems away. You decide that just this once it wouldn’t be so bad, and besides, Charlie is buying all your drinks for you anyway.  
  
You’re out on the dance floor before you realize that this really _was_ a bad idea, because Charlie is out there with you and you had sworn off dancing with him. You don’t want to lead him on, after all. But you’re having fun, or at least in your drunken state it feels like you are, and Charlie is _such_ a good dancer, and almost as much fun to dance with as Mike Chang.  
  
Charlie has his hands on your hips when you realize that this was a _really_ bad idea. You know you don’t think when you’re dancing, you just move, and you keep forgetting that you can’t be this way with him. He won’t understand that for you, a dance is just a dance. He thinks that there’s something more behind this.  
  
He proves you right when he leans in to kiss you. His lips are barely grazing against yours before you’re stumbling backwards, away from him, excusing yourself to the bathroom. You pass the group of your friends in tears. Ani, your closest friend out of all of them, looks concerned, and you think you see her trailing behind her as you push open the door to the ladies room.  
  
You’re sitting on the bench in the corner when she walks in. She looks around the room quickly before her eyes settle on you, and she smiles sympathetically. You know you have tears streaming down your face and your makeup must be ruined, but you don’t care.  
  
She sits down next to you and her hand falls against your back, as she starts to rub soothing circles. You bury your face in your hands, trying to hide your tears and your embarrassment.  
  
“What’s wrong, Britt?” she asks gently. You don’t know what to say. There’s so much wrong. You’re drunk, and Santana broke up with you, and you’re hundreds of miles away from her and your only friends are now going to hate you because you’ve just freaked out on one of them for trying to kiss you when you _know_ you were probably leading him on.  
  
All that comes out is a sob.  
  
She makes all the right noises, telling you “it’s okay” and shushing you when you start to cry louder. She rubs your back until your sobs subside, and then raises her hand up to play with your hair gently.  
  
“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks.  
  
“Charlie tried to kiss me,” you say, and she looks confused. Of course she’s confused. A cute guy trying to kiss you isn’t usually a reason for a mental breakdown in the women’s room.  
  
“Is that a bad thing?” she asks cautiously, and you shrug. You don’t want to go into detail. You’re hoping to maybe get out of this with your friendships still intact, and you don’t want them to see you as this broken girl who needs fixing. They shouldn’t feel responsible for you, and you’re pretty sure they wouldn’t want to bring you out to bars and clubs with them if they did.  
  
"C’mon, why don't you give Charlie a shot? He's a really nice guy, and you _can't_ tell me you don't think he's cute," she says, nudging your shoulder. You chuckle even though you're still crying a little bit.  
  
"I just got out of a really long relationship…" you say, and Ani arches an eyebrow.  
  
"So you're not denying that you think he's cute," she taunts, and you roll your eyes. "A long relationship, huh? You need to move on then, Britt. I'm sure he is."  
  
"I'm still in love with her," you answer, shrugging.  
  
"You're gay?" She raises her eyebrows.  
  
"Well that explains a lot," Ani says, trying to make a joke out of it. You want to correct her, to tell her you're actually bisexual, but you don't bother. Maybe telling your friends you're gay will make things easier with Charlie, anyway.  
  
"Because Charlie is one fine man."  
  
You smile weakly but don't respond. You think you've just made things awkward for her by the way she brushes it off, but she scoots closer to you and wraps her arm around your shoulder.  
  
“It’ll be okay, Britt,” she says, squeezing you tightly. You stay that way for a minute more before she moves to get up, holding her hand out to you.  
  
“C’mon, let’s fix your makeup and get you back out there,” Ani says as she pulls you up. She pulls a couple of things out of her purse before fixing your face up, and you’re so grateful for her because by the time she pulls away the only noticeable thing is that your eyes are a little red.  
  
Charlie apologizes when you walk outside, coming up to meet you almost immediately.  
  
You tell him it’s okay, and he starts to say something else before Ani interrupts him saying, “She plays for the other team!” She pulls you away giggling, and you can’t help but laugh with her at the dumbfounded look on Charlie’s face.  


* * *

  
By the time you leave the tour, you know you’ve made some lifelong friends. As it turns out, Charlie is a great guy when he’s not hitting on you. You bond over a lot, and a month into the tour he starts to date Jessica, another one of the girls in your group.  
  
Ani is super supportive, and you even talk to her about Santana a few times. She becomes your bunkmate, and you share a hotel room as you travel from city to city. One particularly tearful night, you tell her your and Santana’s whole story, starting from when you first met and ending on the day she left you. Even Ani’s eyes are damp by the end of it.  
  
Ani lives in the city, too, but isn’t going back right away. She has another gig lined up only two days after this one ends. You have another tour planned for two months from now, but you haven’t made any final decisions yet. You want to talk to Santana first.  
  
Ani flies home with you, and you share a taxicab to your separate apartments. She squeezes you tightly before you get out of the car, and you promise to Skype her sometime soon.  
  
You haven’t heard from Santana for the rest of the time you’ve been gone. You’ve called Rachel a few times while you were away, just to see how they’re all doing, but she didn’t have much information for you. She’s in a new show, and still attending school. She’s extremely busy between the two, but says she’s been able to take care of Santana.  
  
She said that Santana isn’t doing much, just going to school and singing. There’s a note of hesitancy in her voice that makes you nervous. You press her for more information, but she tells you that Santana is doing just fine, but that she doesn’t want to invade Santana’s privacy by telling you the details.  
  
You walk up the stairs to your apartment, dreading the time you’re going to spend inside of those walls. You’d consider moving, but you know you don’t have the money and it seems like it’d be overdramatic.  
  
Still, you can’t help the tears that fill your eyes when you open the door and everything is quiet inside. Even in just the hallway, it no longer feels the same.  
  
You walk through the empty apartment, noting the changes. She’s taken a lot of her things, but then again, they were _hers_. She’s left you with a lot of things that you know she shouldn’t have because she bought them, but you’re grateful. Your family isn’t particularly rich, and dancing pays enough to live on, but not enough to furnish an apartment with.

The last time you arrived home from a tour you were terribly surprised, and you’re disappointed to find exactly what you were expecting when you walk in this time.  
  
You pull your suitcase into your bedroom. The place is dusty, and you make a mental note to clean it tomorrow.  
  
Santana’s closet is completely emptied out, and you’re regretting the decision you made to give her back her sweatshirt.  
  
You walk into the kitchen. You open the cabinets, but immediately feel stupid when you realize there’s no food. No one’s been grocery shopping here in four months, after all.  
  
You end up finding an unopened box of Lucky Charms and eating it dry for lunch, sitting on the couch. You mindlessly watch television, ignoring the bag that needs unpacking and the rooms that need cleaning as you let your thoughts melt away.  
  
It’s late afternoon by the time you decide you need to do something more. You call Rachel, but she doesn’t answer. You frown. You want to know what Santana’s doing, now that you’re back. You want to meet with her, to talk to her. You decide that there’s no harm in calling her yourself, now that she’s had four months to deal with the breakup.  
  
You punch in her number and press send before you have time to come up with a reason why you shouldn’t be doing this, though you’re sure you could think of plenty. It’s ringing, and you’re dreading it going to voicemail again when someone picks up.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
It's a woman's voice. You don't recognize it. You hang up. You look down at your phone to double check the number, but Santana's smiling face is staring back up at you. You had dialed correctly, so who the hell was that?  
  
You don't call back again after that. You tell yourself that it’s because you don't want to pester her, but really you're just scared, now, of what that voice meant on the other end of the line.  
  
You spend the rest of the day taking down all the photos of the two of you. You put them in a box and shove it inside Santana’s closet. You don’t tape it shut—you’re pretty sure that there will be many times that you’ll sit there, looking through your old memories.  
  
You buy a new brand of laundry detergent at the store on the corner and clean all of the sheets and blankets, hoping to wash the smell of her away before you have to spend the night surrounded in it.  
  
There are still the little things that you’ll be finding for weeks, of course. The bottle of her shampoo in the shower, or one of her shoes left forgotten, under the bed. But you do your best to make the apartment bearable, because as much as you love Santana, you can’t be reminded of her every minute you’re home. You just don’t have the heart for it.

 

* * *

  
  
By some crazy chance, you end up spotting Santana barely a week into your two months at home.  
  
You’re at one of your favorite restaurants, a few blocks down from your apartment. You're here by yourself, for now. You're supposed to be meeting some friends here to catch up in twenty minutes, but you arrived early and figured that you could get a seat and order some drinks and appetizers ahead of time.  
  
You don't know if it was a cruel twist or fate or a blessing from the gods, but it doesn't matter to you either way because there she is, sitting across the restaurant that you have just walked into.  
  
There she is and she’s smiling at another girl who’s sitting across from her. It is so heartbreakingly beautiful that you don't know whether to laugh or cry. It's everything you've missed about her, the warmth and caring and love, and it hurts you to see that she's smiling that smile at someone else.  
  
It is _that_ smile, isn't it? Your smile, the one she had only for you? After all, you could be mistaken. Maybe it's just because you haven't seen her smile in so long that you can't seem to draw your eyes away. You're far away, but you can practically feel its radiance from across the restaurant. Everything about Santana was always blinding to you.  
  
You stand near the bar while you wait for your friends. You’re torn between going up and talking to her and staying here, where you’re safe. She makes that decision for you when she catches your eyes a few minutes later. She looks like she excuses herself from the girl’s company before standing up and walking towards you.  
  
"Brittany?"  
  
"Santana," you reply. You can't help but smile. She looks even more beautiful up close.  
  
She's wearing a nice dress. Not the fancy kind, but the sort you'd wear when you used to go parties together in high school. She's wearing makeup, but it's dark and not at all the style that you're used to. She looks like she did back when you first got together, and not at all like the person who was comfortable in her own skin that she had become in your years with her since then. She looks incredibly attractive though, and that, combined her company at her table, leads you to believe that you've just interrupted a date.  
  
"When did you get back?" Her voice sounds breathless and her eyes are wide, like she can't believe you're in the same room as her. Honestly, you can't either.  
  
"A week ago," you answer, and her eyebrows pull together.  
  
"I'm… I meant to call," she says, and you shrug. She meant to call, but she didn't. She's been busy. With what, though? The girl at the table?  
  
"I called you," you reply. "But--"  
  
"I got a new number," she responds quickly. At first you're relieved, because that means that the girl on the other end of the line _wasn't_ her girlfriend answering her phone. And then you realize that she got a new number and didn't bother to tell you, and you frown.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I'm sorry," Santana takes a step closer and you shake your head. "I meant to--"  
  
"It's fine."  
  
She stops where she is and tugs at her dress nervously. The silence becomes uncomfortable as she stares at her feet, and your eyes dart to the girl at the table behind her.  
  
"Are you on a date with her?" you ask bluntly. You know that this conversation might not last very long, so you decide to cut right to the chase. You need to know what Santana is doing with this girl. Have they been together long? Are they just friends? Is it serious? Is she in love with her? Or is this just their first date, is she going to have Rachel call her in ten minutes so she can excuse herself and leave. Somehow, you get a feeling that it isn't the latter.  
  
"I…" she trails off nervously, looking behind her. You give her what you hope is a small reassuring smile.  
  
"Santana, it's okay, you can tell me," you say gently, and she offers you a feeble smile in return. She looks scared, and you figure that gives you your answer already.  
  
She's scared of how you'll react, and you promise yourself that you won't let her see that this is hurting you. Even if Santana has moved on, she's not a bad person. She won't want to see you in pain. She might even still love you, in some way. At the very least you hope she still calls you her friend. You won't let her see that the fact that she's here, on a date with a beautiful girl, smiling at her like _that_ is breaking your heart all over again.  
  
"Yes. But Brittany--"  
  
"No buts, San. We broke up," you cut in. You don't want her to feel like she owes you anything. The circumstances of your breakup were complicated, at best, and even though you know you won't be moving on anytime soon, Santana has every right to. You want to see her happy, after all, don't you? You know that you don't make her happy. You should be feeling nothing but joy at the fact that she's moved on and found someone who could do what you couldn't.  
  
You're feeling the furthest thing from joy, of course.  
  
"Yeah, but I didn't…" She doesn't finish her sentence, and you're dying to know what's on the other end of it.  
  
"You didn't what?" you ask, when it's clear she has no intention of finishing her thought. You hope you've kept the eagerness out of your voice, but you can't tell because the only reaction she has is to bite her lip and look towards the ground.  
  
"I didn't want you to find out like this," she says, looking over her shoulder at the girl sitting at the table. She's pretty, you're not too petty to admit that. She has red hair, which you didn't really think was Santana's type but apparently…  
  
The girl is watching a band playing on the small stage intently, not looking at all bothered by the fact that Santana has been gone for a few minutes or that she's talking to her ex-girlfriend. If she even knows about you, that is.  
  
"What's her name?" you ask. You don't want to ask the question, but you realize that you need to. It literally pains you to not know what's going in Santana's life, and you want so badly to be happy for her in all of this. All you've ever wanted was to see her happy, you remind yourself.  
  
"Emily," she says with no emotion, no sigh of love afterwards, and you're grateful. You nod in recognition but don't say anything. What are you supposed to say, after all? Emily is a lovely name for the girl in the green dress, swaying to the music, who is making the love of your life smile when you're not there to anymore.  
  
"I… are you back?" Santana asks timidly, and your eyes snap away from her date.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are you back? I mean, how long are you home for?" she clarifies, and you feel your heart sink.  
  
Two months, that's all you have to be near her again before you're across the country and the world. You weren't sure whether or not you were going to accept the gig, but now you feel as if the decision has been made for you. You can't be here if Santana's moved on.  
  
Another two months, then. That's all you have. You tell her as much, and she nods solemnly. You think there's a bit of sadness in her eyes, but she diverts them from your own almost immediately upon hearing the news.  
  
"And then?" she asks, quietly. You're not sure what to tell her, so you decide it's best to just tell her the truth.  
  
"I have another offer. I'd be gone for another year if I went," you explain. Her shoulders fall a negligible amount and your heart jumps at the tiniest of movements. She's disappointed.  
  
You feel like a bad person because you're happy at her apparent sadness. That's not the way things are supposed to be, is it? It used to be that you were happy when she was happy. But then when you were away on tour you were happy and she wasn't. And now, she's happy on her date with Emily, and you're heartbroken. Maybe things aren't the way they used to be at all. Maybe it's a sign that you two really weren't meant for each other.  
  
"Oh," escapes her mouth in a sigh, and you nod. You chew your lip before asking your next question.  
  
"Do you… do you think I should go?"  
  
Her eyes connect with yours immediately, and you can tell she knows what you're asking. She glances back behind her at the girl, Emily, before nodding slowly.  
  
"Yeah, Brittany," she says. "I do."  
  
You know that you can’t hide the hurt on your face at her words, so you drop your eyes down to the ground. You nod. You understand. She’s moved on now; she doesn’t want you hanging around. You’d be giving up your dream for someone who doesn’t want you anymore. You’d be willing to do it if there was any chance that she’d want you to stay, but it’s pretty clear that she doesn’t want you here.  
  
You scuff your feet at the ground, nodding your head. You hear her sigh, but you don’t look up. Your phone starts to buzz in your pocket, and it’s your friend Alex calling you. You gesture to Santana, letting her know you have to answer.  
  
“Hello?” you say.  
  
 _“Hey, Britt honey. We’re running pretty late. Any way we can reschedule to meet in like an hour?”_

“Um…” You don’t want to wait around here for an hour. “Tell you what, I’ll get some food from here to go and meet you back at my place in like an hour. Sound good?”  
  
Alex says that it sounds fine, and you’re hanging up less than a minute later. Santana’s still standing there, waiting for you to get off the phone, and you’re glad that Alex called and dissipated the awkwardness.  
  
“I’ve gotta go,” you say, pointing with your thumb towards the bar. She nods in acknowledgement. “It was nice seeing you,” you offer weakly. You don’t know what else to say now for goodbyes, since you can’t use “I love you” anymore.  
  
“Yeah,” she responds, frowning. “You too. Take care of yourself, Britt.”  
  
You heart soars a little at the term of endearment before she’s walking away, back towards her date.  


* * *

  
You have fun with your friends, Katie and Alex. You know them from classes at Julliard, and they excitedly tell you about all the different things you’ve missed while you were away. You catch up on the latest gossip, and they tell you about all the awful professors they’ve had in the past months.  
  
The three of you finish off a bottle of wine. Neither of them mentions Santana, because you’re sure it’s been spread around that the two of you are over. You’ve definitely confirmed the rumor by inviting them into the apartment you used to share. They’ve been here a few times before, and they got along with Santana just fine. You’re sure they notice her absence.  
  
They stay until the early morning, and you’re glad. It’s the first night that you haven’t sat around sadly, and you actually ended up happy for the majority of the evening.  
  
You’d left your phone charging in the other room while your friends were there, and when you go to get it the flashing alert light surprises you, indicating that you have a new voicemail message.  
  
It’s from a number you don’t recognize, and you almost throw your phone down and collapse into bed when something tells you not to. You press play and hold the phone up to your ear.  
  
“ _Hey_ , _Britt_.” You recognize the voice immediately. _“It’s me. Santana. I just… I wanted to give you my number, and to apologize for not giving it to you in the first place. I don’t know what I was thinking._ ” The admission makes you smile.  
  
 _“I want to meet with you again soon and catch up, if you’d like to. Give me a call back, we can get some coffee. I, uh—I missed you. I’d really like to see you again.”_ Her voice sounds so sincere that you’re certain your heart has just melted.  
  
 _“ So, just… call me back at this number, if you’re free. Thanks. Bye.”_  
  
You check your phone. She had called at least three hours before, and it’s way too late to call her back tonight. You’ll have to do it in the morning.  
  
You change into pajamas and snuggle under the sheets, giving the message one more listen before turning off the lights and rolling over to sleep.  
  
She wants to meet with you, to have coffee with you. Whether or not she’s dating someone, you’re still ecstatic at the idea of having her back in your life at any capacity.  
  
She missed you.  
  
She wants to see you again.  
  
With that little bit of comfort, you fall asleep happy for the first time in weeks.


	5. Chapter Five

\--

Kurt helps you decorate your new apartment. You didn't really want him to because you didn't want your apartment to look like a very gay man lived there, but he promised to keep your tastes in mind and you're actually pretty satisfied with the result. He hunted down all the best bargains and even helped you make matching valences out of your excess shower curtain. He knew weird things about paint colors and picture frames that you barely understood, and you feel like you live in an IKEA magazine by the end of it. 

Rachel has been over non-stop since you've left her apartment, and you end up having to tell her to back off after a month or so. 

"I'm fine," you say, when she explains that she's just worried about you. You don't tell her that being around her constantly is making you think of Brittany, of old times when you were all in the Glee Club in high school, and it's making you pretty miserable. She's been a great friend, you just need some space, and she understands that. 

\--

It hits you every once in a while that you’ve actually broken up with Brittany. It still doesn’t seem real to you, sometimes. You get the urge to call her over the littlest things, funny stories and good grades and old memories. But you’ve broken up with her, and even though you didn’t ever talk about it, you’re pretty sure you’re not getting back together. Brittany is just starting out in her career, and you’re positive she’s going to be a big star. 

So you focus all of your efforts into getting over her. It seems wrong-- you’ve spent all of your life chasing after her and fighting for her, and now you’re suddenly forcing yourself to let her go and trying to push her out of your mind. It goes against everything you know. 

You make yourself to go out with your friends. It would be so easy to just sit at home, every night, moping around and missing her, but you know that’s going to get you nowhere fast. You know that if you find yourself as miserable without her as you were when you were still together, that you’ve gone and broken her heart for nothing. You need to make sure that you get better so it’ll be worth it, at the very least. You know it’s selfish, but it gets you off the couch and out of your pajamas, so you don’t berate yourself too much.

Besides, you have complete faith that Brittany will be alright. She always has been, even in your high school years when things got really bad between the two of you. You’re sure she’s coping fine, that she’s finding friends and moving on. You really hope that’s the case, anyway, because the idea of Brittany being sad because of you breaks your heart even more. 

You ask Rachel a couple of times how Brittany is doing, but she doesn’t tell you much. She’ll tell you what city she’s in or news about the tour, but not much more than that. She says she’s making friends, and you find that comforting. At least she isn’t alone. 

So, you go out with your friends from school. 

It isn’t exactly your scene (it hasn’t been since high school), but you end up at a lot of bars dancing and drinking, and it’s enough to keep you distracted. You’d rather be home listening to Rachel singing show-tunes or cuddled up on the couch watching television, but you know that it wouldn’t be good for your mental health. Instead, you go and drink rum and cokes with Emily and Jonathan and Matthew, who are in a couple of classes with you. Emily hasn’t said anything about your kiss a few months ago, and you’re glad to avoid that awkwardness. You’re not ready to deal with that quite yet. 

\--

You start to go out with your friends every weekend, sometimes even twice a week. It’s fun and it crosses your mind every once in a while that you might be pushing your feelings away, but in those few weeks it takes away some of the pain and that’s all that you care about. 

You’ve gotten closer to Emily. You talk about your lives and she makes you laugh, and even though it doesn’t feel good it doesn’t feel bad either, and that’s all you think you can really hope for right now, so you keep doing it. 

It’s sometime in the second month after the breakup that she stops you as you go to get in your taxi one night. 

“Do you think... do you want to grab some food, sometime?” she asks, and you realize that she’s blushing. Is she interested in you? You don’t know how you haven’t really registered it yet, because all the signs are there. She’s trying to be more subtle than just flat-out kissing you this time after how you reacted last time, and you appreciate that. 

You don’t know what possesses you to do it, maybe it’s because she’s attractive and interested and there, but you end up leaning in and pressing your mouth to hers. She responds eagerly, her mouth warm and then hot over yours. It feels completely different from kissing Brittany, but as she moans into your lips you begin to think that maybe that can be okay.

You have sex with her that night after she gets in the taxi and directs the driver back to her apartment. You sort of enjoyed it, and you feel awful about that afterwards. You struggle to wait until she falls asleep to cry. Then the tears come, too-warm and overpowering as you try not to shake so much that you wake her. 

You wake up in the morning before she does and slip out, leaving a note saying that ‘something came up.’ You’re surprised when she doesn’t call or text you for a few days, wondering where you’ve been, and when you run into her on campus a few days later she smiles and waves before she continues walking with her friends. 

You end up going to a bar with the group again the next week. Emily wasn’t there when you first arrived, and you were relieved because that was one conversation you did not want to have: that you’re in love with your ex-girlfriend and not looking for any sort of commitment at the moment.

An hour later (and a few drinks in) she comes through the door. She says hello, kissing everyone on their cheeks and apologizing for her lateness. She doesn’t pause awkwardly in front of you, but just swoops down and plants her lips against your skin before moving on to Matt, and you’re surprised. 

She spends most of her night out on the dance floor with Jonathan while you sit and talk with Jennifer, Cody, and Matt, who have started hanging out with your group of friends more and more often. They’re weekly regulars, now, at the very least, and you’re glad, because there’s only so much time you can spend in a small group without starting to get into emotional topics. 

At the end of the night, Emily walks up to you and flashes you this smile that you just know is some sort of invitation. But you don’t act on it. 

Not that night, anyway. 

The next week, it’s a different story. 

\--

You approach her first, surprisingly. You honestly feel weird about the entire thing, because it’s been a while since you’ve slept with someone with no feelings involved and ended up breaking hearts, and you don’t want to turn into that person again. 

“Can we talk?” you ask her, standing at the bar. She flits her eyes around nervously before answering. 

“Can I be honest with you?” 

You blink at her, because you were thinking you were going to be doing all the talking in this conversation. You nod.

“I’m not really looking for a relationship right now. Maybe it was wrong of me to sleep with you because of that, but I’m just looking for something... I don’t know, something fun, something to keep me entertained. I’m busy with school and work and I don’t have the time to date. And then I met you, and I don’t know, you seemed so... I don’t know, free. I guess I just assumed that you’d be okay with it, and it was wrong of me, and I’m really sorry if I’ve misled you but--” 

You cut her off with your lips, because honestly you don’t want to hear what she has to say anymore. She doesn’t want a relationship and that’s just fine with you. You need this. 

It’s the way you’ve always coped with your emotions and you don’t know how to stop anymore, because that’s what Brittany taught you, and now that you’ve lost her, you feel totally lost. Your emotions are everywhere and you just want to drown them in sex. So, you do. 

\--

You and Emily casually sleep together for two months before she finally asks you if you want to go do something a little less physical. You surprise yourself by saying yes, and the two of you eat a rather pleasant dinner at a restaurant you’ve never been to. You end up having fun, and you don’t know why you’re surprised by this. You’ve spent a lot of time with Emily in the past, but you’ve never realized how much you truly enjoy her company. 

Sure, she doesn’t give you butterflies, and you aren’t in love with her, but it’s pleasant, and she kisses you goodnight after walking you home, and it keeps you smiling for a while before you realize how much you wish that the evening had been spent with someone who is probably hundreds of miles away.

\--

It’s on the fourth date when it happens. 

You don’t know how four months have passed without you noticing. It all becomes a blur after the first few weeks, you just pushing through and life dragging you along.

It’s your first date with Emily where you’re the one taking her out, and you decide to bring her to your favorite restaurant near your old place. It’s not until you get there that you remember that it was your favorite simply because it was Brittany’s favorite, and you spend the majority of the meal recalling old memories of Brittany in the chair across from you, Brittany on the dance floor, Brittany--

You realize that you’ve stopped paying attention to Emily completely, at that point. You’re sitting there with a smile on your face, thinking of all the good times you’ve had in this restaurant, and you’re not even sure what the hell you’re supposed to be talking about with the girl sitting in front of you. You hope your grin wasn’t totally inappropriate, and you drop it quickly as you listen to her speak. 

“And so he’s standing there, coffee dripping all down his front, and we’re all trying so hard not to laugh...” 

Her words ease your worry. She’s still talking about her asshole boss. You laugh along with her and shake your head, pretending like you’ve been listening all along, when something catches your eye.

You blink, hard, because even though you’ve been getting lost a lot in your thoughts, you didn’t think you were getting to the point of actual insanity, and unless your eyes are playing tricks on you, Brittany is standing in the front of the restaurant, talking to the hostess. You sit there and count the days and months that she’s been gone and realize that yes, it’s entirely possible that she might be home. If she’s still in your old place, she’d be living a short walk away from the restaurant, and you get suddenly angry with yourself for thinking that it was a good idea to bring Emily here, of all places. 

She sits down at the bar, and you just can’t take your eyes off her. You know it’s probably a bad idea, gawking at your ex while on a date with someone, especially when you haven’t seen or heard from said ex in four months. But she looks beautiful, and you’re pretty sure all coherent and rational thought left your brain the moment you laid eyes on her. 

Her eyes find yours and your mind goes completely blank. She looks away quickly, nervously, and you’re not sure what it means, but you find yourself standing and excusing yourself suddenly. Emily looks surprised, but quickly smiles and says okay. 

“Brittany?” 

 Her head snaps up as you call her name, and her eyes immediately find yours. 

You weren’t thinking you’d see her again for years, and now that she’s here you have no idea what it is you wanted to say. Once you saw her, you knew that you needed to be near her, to talk to her. But now every thought has left your mind except for Brittany and the way that her mouth is turning slightly upwards and her hair is tucked adorably behind her ears. 

She’s smiling, like she’s happy to see you, and something about that seems so wrong because she should hate you, right now. You should have known that Brittany wasn’t really capable of something as ugly as hate, though. She’s too beautiful for that. 

“Santana...” she sighs your name, like she’s been waiting to say it forever. 

\--

“Santana’s here!” you hear Kurt yell, and a moment later Rachel swings open the door. She greets you with a smile before running back towards the living room area where Kurt is already sitting on the couch. 

Kurt lives in a rather large studio. Rachel is standing near the stove, baking something vegan, which, on any other night, you would have made fun of her for. Kurt is talking to her about his latest experience with a boy who keeps canceling on all of their dates. You told Kurt after the second time to just give up, but he says he has nothing better going on right now anyway, so what’s the harm in trying.

“His grandmother! Can you believe it?!” 

Rachel is shaking her head sympathetically, and you walk over and slink down onto the couch.   “Santana, I’m making brownies, and you’re not allowed to--”  “Santana?!” Kurt says suddenly, leaning forward when he sees your expression. You’re pretty sure you look as if you’ve just seen a ghost. And you have, sort of. A ghost that you that you were (are) in love with and you just made a total ass of yourself in front of. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, and Rachel walks over, concerned. They’re staring at you but you keep your gaze focused straight ahead.

“I saw Brittany,” you say, and they both gasp dramatically. Rachel sits down next to you and pulls your hands into her lap.

“And?”

“I was on a date with Emily,” you finish, and they gasp again. 

“Oh no,” Kurt mutters, while Rachel squeezes your hands tightly.

“Was she angry? Did she slap you? It’s okay if she did, we’ve all been slapped once or twice and it’s no big--”

“Rachel,” Kurt interrupts, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Santana, honey, what did she say?” 

“She told me... that it was okay that I was on a date, that we broke up. And then she asked me about Emily, and told me about her next tour, and it was just so awkward and I just didn’t know what to say and she must think I hate her because I--”  “Santana, deep breaths,” Rachel says, rubbing you on your back. 

“It was awful,” you say, and you realize that you’re on the verge of tears. You lean your head down into your hands  and cradle it there. “I’ve missed her so much and then I finally saw her and it was just awful.” 

“What was so bad about it?” Kurt asks. 

“It was just... I was so awkward, and I have so many things to say to her and my mind just went completely blank. And she looked so pretty and she was meeting people there, and she seemed happy, but then I fucked that up too.” 

“What do you mean?” Rachel asks, and you sigh. 

“She asked if I still thought she should go on tour again after this one and I said yes.”

“Well... is that true?”   “Well, yeah, but I think she thought it was because of Emily and it’s not, it’s not at all. I think I gave her the totally wrong impression and I just... I just meant that things haven’t changed, that I still feel the same way, not that I didn’t love her anymore.”  “Honestly, San, what’s the harm in her thinking that you’ve moved on? Maybe it’ll encourage her to do the same,” Kurt suggests. You sigh. You feel that he may be right, but something seems so wrong about misleading Brittany like that, especially when it’s the farthest thing from the truth.

“Maybe you should move on. Emily is a nice girl, right? And you like her. If you move on, you and Brittany... I don’t know, you can be friends one day.”  
 The truth in his words strikes you suddenly. 

Brittany is only home for two months... you could be friends with her, just for now, and then get over her when she leaves for the year. She seemed like she wanted to be friends, right? You know that it’s probably wrong, but you just miss her so badly that, the more you think about it, the more and more it begins to sound like a good idea. 

After all, it’ll give your heart a break, and it’ll be like getting a redo of her first tours, except this time you won’t be together and you won’t feel like you’re left behind, waiting for her at home. You’ll be able to move on like you should have in the first place. You’ll have an entire year to do it. The four months you’ve given yourself to get over her this time around was way too short, and she seems like she wants to be friends again. She did call, after all, you just hadn’t given her your number in the first place.

It especially sounds like a good idea after a few glasses of wine with Kurt. You’ve worked it all out in your head, by then. You’ll ask her to get lunch with you. You’ll meet with her and tell her that you’d like to be friends, if she can handle that. If she doesn’t want to, you’ll back off, simple as that. 

And if she says yes, and you’re sure she isn’t lying, then you’ll go along with it. You’ll keep dating Emily, because she’s seeing other people, anyway. You can get to be friends, to be near her for the next two months, and you’ll still have time to get over her. You know it’s pathetic and stupid and probably an awful idea, but you just miss her so much that, once you’ve thought of it, you’re not sure you’re strong enough to convince yourself not to do it. 

Kurt and Rachel are just sitting down to begin their weekly facials when you excuse yourself into the bathroom, taking your phone with you. 

You know you’ll probably regret it in the morning, but it’s just one phone call. You’re not actually going through with this plan, you’re just setting it in motion. Who knows if Brittany will even call you back? She probably won’t, judging by how you acted today. And even if she does, you don’t have to do anything. You can just have coffee together and then go your separate ways. It won’t be a big deal, you rationalize as you lock the door behind you and pull out your phone. 

It’s ringing before you even realized you’ve dialed, and it goes straight to voicemail. You think it’s a good thing, because if you had to talk to her right now you’d probably lose all your nerve. 

“Hey, Britt. It’s me.” You realize a second later that she doesn’t know your number and there isn’t any guarantee that she’ll know who “me” is. You know you’d recognize Brittany’s voice even if you hadn’t heard it in fifty years, but still, you correct yourself. 

“...Santana. I just… I wanted to give you my number, and to apologize for not giving it to you in the first place. I don’t know what I was thinking.” You’re doing well so far. You’re even being kind of smooth, if you do say so yourself, and you’re impressed that you haven’t said anything stupid yet.  

“I want to meet with you again soon and catch up, if you’d like to. Give me a call back, we can get some coffee. I, uh—I missed you. I’d really like to see you again. So, just… call me back at this number, if you’re free. Thanks. Bye.”

You sigh with relief when you press the ‘end’ button, letting the nerves flood out of your system. You decide you can’t tell Rachel and Kurt about your plan. Not yet, anyway. They won’t approve (and maybe you should take that as a sign), and you’re pretty sure they could talk you out of it and that’s not what you want. 

The only thing that would stop you from doing this is if it wasn’t what Brittany wanted. If Brittany didn’t want to stay friends, you wouldn’t make her. But she did say that she had tried to call, which means she had wanted to talk to you. And friends talk, right? Right. 

\--

 

Brittany doesn’t call you back that night, and you try to rationalize it because it was late (okay, it was only 9:30, but still), and she was meeting with someone (friends, not a date, you’re sure of it). 

You don’t take your eyes off your phone for more than five minutes the next day, and you leave the ringer on as loud as it will go. You don’t want to miss her call, if she decides to call you back at all. It’s nearly noon when your phone finally makes a noise, but it’s just a text and you’re disappointed until you see the name flashing on the screen. 

Santana? 

It’s Brittany. She isn’t returning your call, but at the very least she’s texting you, and you sigh with relief that you haven’t made a complete and total fool of yourself.

Hey, Britt! you respond, trying to sound as welcoming as possible. You don’t want to scare her off like you did that night you texted her to tell her you were moving out. 

I'm gonna call you, is that okay? 

You chuckle, because you're not sure why she'd be texting you to ask if she can call, but you text her back 'okay' anyway. Your heart is racing. You're just happy that she wants to talk to you after how you behaved last night. 

The phone is ringing not a minute later. 

"Hello?" you answer, and you chide yourself on how strange your voice sounds, overly bright and bubbly and not at all like yourself. 

"Hi," she replies, and she sounds quiet, distant, scared. It occurs to you that this might not be a good phone call, that she might be calling to tell you not to contact her anymore. But if that were true, why couldn’t she have just texted you that? Or, better yet, just not called you back at all?  You realize it's your turn to speak, and decide to say what's on your mind. 

"Why did you ask if you could call?" 

You hear her let out a small, embarrassed laugh on the other end of the line.

"I just… I dunno, I didn't want you to be busy or something. I don't want us to end up in an endless game of phone tag and never get around to talking." 

A simple, sweet explanation that is just so Brittany that you can't help but smile. 

"Anyway, I'm really glad you called," Brittany says, and you feel your heart beat faster even though you tell it not to. You can’t use these two months to fall even further in love with her-- it’d just hurt too badly. 

"You are?" you ask shyly.  

“Yeah, I’ve been really wanting to talk to you. Like I said, I called, but...”   “Yeah, again, I’m so sorry about that. My phone broke and I posted my new number on Facebook, it didn’t even occur to me that you wouldn’t have it and--” 

“Santana!” she cuts in, laughing. “It’s fine. No harm done, we’re talking now.” 

At the sound of her laughter your heart feels like its stops altogether. This all feels so natural, too natural, and you’re waiting for the moment that she realizes that this isn’t how she’s supposed to act around you anymore, that she should hate you or at the very least be mad at you. But she’s laughing and you’re smiling and somehow, you push all the bad thoughts away just enough to enjoy the sounds filtering through your phone. 

“We are, indeed,” you comment. She giggles again, and you yell at the butterflies in your stomach to shut up, because if you can’t behave and keep your emotions under control then you can’t be friends again, and you miss her so much that you want that more than anything. Well, almost anything. 

“You mentioned getting coffee?” she asks. 

“I did... is that something you’d be interested in?” you reply, and you can hear her moving against the phone as she nods her head.

“Yeah! Yes. I would... I would like that. A lot. Would you?” she sounds shy and nervous, and you feel bad because how could she think that you don’t want to see her? Then you remember the way you acted in the restaurant yesterday and you feel worse.

“I would really like to talk to you,” you say. “When are you free?”   “I’m really free whenever,” Brittany says. “I just got back, and I have some plans with a few people in the next week. But I’m not working or taking classes or anything, and I’d really like to get to talk to you, so I’m really available... whenever...” she trails off, and you can practically see the blush on her face as she realizes she’s been rambling. 

“Whenever sounds good,” you say, and she laughs. “Is tomorrow too soon to be whenever?”

“No!” Brittany exclaims quickly. “Tomorrow... tomorrow works just fine.” 


	6. Chapter Six

Santana called and asked you to get coffee with her yesterday, and you have no idea what it’s supposed to mean. 

She could just want to apologize for the other day, you think. But no, that can’t be right, because she had already apologized to you over the phone. 

She missed you. She just wants to see you again, your heart insists, feeding off of the words in her message.

You can’t deny that you’d listened to that message over and over again this morning. But you were just trying to figure out what it meant, honestly. You weren’t listening to it on repeat because you missed her voice so much or anything. That would just be creepy.

Anyway, you have the entire message memorized at this point, and you aren’t any closer to figuring out why Santana wants to meet you for coffee. 

Any time your heart starts to race at the idea of her simply missing you and wanting to see you, you remind yourself that the only reason she called in the first place was because you ran into her on a date with another girl. A pretty girl, who is probably smarter than you and funnier than you and is here, with Santana, when you can’t be. 

Santana wasn’t subtle about the fact that running into you at the restaurant made her uncomfortable. You’re not sure why, because you were trying to be as friendly as possible, but she couldn’t seem to stop frowning the entire time you saw her. The conversation was stunted and she obviously still feels the same way that she did the night that she left you. The whole exchange was awkward. It really scared you to think that could be the state of your relationship from now on. 

You were so grateful when she called and assuaged those fears later that night, even though you’re not sure whether she was calling because she wanted to, or because she was (obviously) slightly drunk. She sounded sober when you called back (you should hope so, because it wasn’t nearly far enough into the day to start drinking), and she was just as friendly then, but that could have been because she felt bad for drunk dialing you. 

You could be walking into a minefield right now; Santana is kind of unpredictable that way. You have no way to prepare yourself for what she’ll have to say to you when you see her, because you can’t get a read on how she’s feeling right now from just her phone call. Nonetheless, you’ve been waiting eagerly all day to get to talk to her, even if you don’t know what’s going to happen when you do. 

Maybe she’s going to say she could sense how crazy in love you were with her when you saw her the other day. Maybe she’ll say that you need to stay away from her until you’re over her because she’s dating Emily now. Maybe she wants you back. 

Maybe she thinks she forgot something at the apartment and wants to ask you to return it. Maybe she just wants to get coffee with you. 

But why would she ask you to meet at Joe’s Cafe? 

Maybe she has bad news and wanted to give it to you in public so you couldn’t freak out. Maybe she thinks it’d be awkward to meet you anywhere that the two of you would be alone. 

You’re trying not to read too much into the fact that Joe’s was one of your places when you were a couple. You’d meet there for a late breakfast on days when you knew that classes were going to keep you apart for the rest of the day.

Then again, she brought Emily to your favorite date restaurant. 

Maybe these places don’t mean the same things to Santana as they do to you. 

Maybe Santana has forgotten. 

\--

You’re late. 

You’re usually never late. In fact, you’re usually at least fifteen minutes early. The only time you’re ever late is if you’ve completely forgotten that you had to be somewhere, and that’s definitely not what happened here because you would never forget about Santana. 

But, just as you were leaving, Rachel called you on your house phone, and no matter how many times you insisted that you had to go or that you should move your conversation to your cell, she dismissed you. You would normally have been a bit more insistent, but it turned out that she had called bearing good news.

One of her friends is directing a music video and needs a choreographer, and Rachel has recommended you. It’s a good opportunity for you because, without Santana paying half the rent, you can really use the money. Plus finding a job dancing (that would need to only last for the two months that you’re home) will probably be difficult, and getting your foot in the door with choreographing might really help you out in the long run. The money isn’t bad, and it’ll be fun, so you’re sure to make sure Rachel knows how much you appreciate the opportunity before you hang up.

As good as her news was, though, you didn’t want to hear about it when you had been waiting all day to leave to go meet Santana. You don’t know why, but you don’t mention the fact that you’re getting coffee with her to Rachel. You have a feeling that would turn into a very, very long conversation, and you really do not have the time for that. 

Instead, you end up leaving twenty minutes after you’d originally planned. You walked as fast as you could to get to the coffee shop (you considered running, but you didn’t want to turn up there all sweaty and gross). There’s a line practically to the door when you walk into Joe’s, and you can’t see Santana in it. You look to see if she’s seated at one of the tables, but you can’t seem to find her. 

Shit. Maybe she’s already left. You’ve never really known Santana to be patient, and with a quick glance at your watch you can see that you’re just past fifteen minutes late.

“Hey!” you hear a voice calling to you. You’re relieved as you recognize it as Santana’s voice, and you turn around.

She’s sitting at a small table behind the door. There’s a book laid out in front of her, and one of her hands is resting on it, keeping the page open about halfway through. You immediately feel bad that you’ve kept her waiting for this long.

“Hi!” you answer, hoping your voice holds as much enthusiasm as hers did. She’s smiling at you, and it doesn’t look anywhere near forced. She looks beautiful. You catch yourself before you begin to stare, and walk towards her.

You sit in the chair across from her. She isn’t wearing weird clothes this time, but a familiar red shirt and a dark skirt. Her hair is longer now than you ever remember seeing it, and she’s changed the color of her lip gloss, but she’s the Santana that you remember so fondly, and you’re glad to see that she hasn’t transformed into a completely new person in the past four months. 

There’s two coffees in front of her, and you quickly check the cup to see if it’s for you. It is.

“You got me coffee? You didn’t have to do that,” you say, blinking in confusion. Her wanting to meet to talk to you is one thing, but buying you coffee really throws you for a loop. Everything about her has drastically changed since you saw her two days ago, and you’re torn between ecstatic and nervous.  

“Yeah, well, maybe if you hadn’t been so late...” she says, and if you hadn’t known Santana so well you might have thought that she was actually angry. Instead, you catch the slight upturn of her lips, and smile apologetically in return.  

“Sorry. I was on the phone with Rachel, actually, she--” you begin to explain, but Santana holds up a hand to stop you. 

“Say no more. In fact, I’m impressed if you managed to get here only fifteen minutes late. It normally takes me at least an hour to get her off the phone,” Santana says, and you’re surprised by how friendly she’s being. You’re glad to see that she wasn’t faking her amicable tone during your phone conversation, but it leaves you even more confused as to how she’s feeling. You try not to get your hopes up at the easy smile on her face.

“Really?” you ask, chuckling, because you can’t picture Santana being patient with Rachel for more than five minutes. “I would have thought you’d just hang up by then.”

“God, no. I learned that lesson the hard way. I once hung up on her when I was on my way to work. She showed up an hour later in tears saying she thought I had died in a horrible car accident or got mugged and left in a dark alley to die.” 

“Oh my god,” you say, and place a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. 

“Yeah, it took me another half hour to get her to leave. Took up both of my breaks. My boss was livid. On the bright side, he banned her from ever coming back,” she finishes, shrugging and bursting into laughter along with you. 

You laugh even harder, because somehow you didn’t realize how much you’d missed Santana complaining about Rachel. There have been so many things that you’ve missed about her, it’s been hard to keep track. An awkward lull fills the silence after your laughter dies out, and you find yourself fiddling with the cardboard sleeve around your cup. 

You take a sip of your coffee, and smile as the taste hits your tongue. Blueberry coffee has always been your favorite. If you mix in just the right amount of french vanilla, it tastes just like a blueberry cream pie. Santana drinks her coffee dark, and you could barely swallow it the few times she convinced you to taste it. She always makes a face at how light you like your coffee, but as you take another sip you realize she’s made it perfectly. 

“How’s your coffee?” Santana asks, and you nearly cringe at the fact that you’re about to engage in small talk with the girl you’ve known since you were twelve. 

“It’s great, thank you,” you say, tipping it towards her. She ‘hmms’ in response as she takes a long sip of her own drink. 

The silence begins to get uncomfortable again, and you know you can’t let this continue any further without addressing the elephant in the room.

“Can I ask you a question?” 

She looks up from behind her cup at you, giving you a slight nod. 

You draw in a deep breath, because this has all felt so friendly and comfortable that you don’t want to ruin it by talking about your breakup. Then again, you know that you can’t just continue on as if nothing has ever happened between the two of you. You need to talk about it at some point, and you hope that’s what Santana brought you here to do today.

“What are we doing?” you ask, and she doesn’t miss a beat in responding.

“We’re... getting coffee,” she answers simply, gesturing between the two of you. “Talking.” 

“Talking, or like... talking?” You tilt your head to the side, confused. Because talking is about coffee, books, movies, gossip. You’re hoping she called you to talk, to figure out what’s next for the two of you, because you desperately need there to be a next. 

“That... depends,” she says, frowning. “Which do you want it to be?”   “I... I don’t think I know what you mean,” you reply. You don’t understand why it would matter what you want out of this when she’s the one who asked to see you. Santana clearly must have called you here for a reason. You want to know her motives.

“Well, you’re the one who asked the question,” she says, somewhat pointedly, and you feel a bit disheartened by her tone. Maybe trying to talk wasn’t what she wanted, after all.    

“Well... you’re the one who asked me to meet you,” you reply meekly, shrugging. “I’m sure you wanted something more than to just buy me coffee.”   “Honestly?” Santana sighs, the tension falling out of her shoulders as she leans forward. “No, I didn’t. I just... How are you, Brittany?”

The question takes you by surprise, because surely if all she wanted to know was how you were she could have asked Rachel or asked you over the phone yesterday. It doesn’t make sense that she would want to meet up in another potentially awkward situation just to ask how you are.  

“How am I?” you repeat, and you’re relieved when she doesn’t get frustrated with you this time.

“Yeah, it’s just that... I haven’t heard from you in so long and--” 

Oh. You see what this is. She’s checking up on you. She wants to make sure you’re not still broken, that she didn’t do any permanent damage. Whether that’s because she still cares about you, or because she doesn’t want to feel responsible, you’re unsure. 

“I’m good,” you interject, because either way, you don’t want her to know how much you still love and miss her. You’re usually nothing but honest with Santana, but she’s moved on. She’s happy, now. Who are you to try and ruin that for her?

“Good?” she asks, and you wonder if she can still see straight through you when you lie. You try harder with your answer this time.

“Yeah, I’m really good,” you smile and nod, and she squints your eyes at you as if she can’t quite figure you out.

“Like, good or... good?” she asks, and you roll your eyes.   “Good or good, talk or talk,” you laugh while you’re saying it, but you know she can tell that you’re serious by the way she drops your gaze, embarrassed. “Santana, this would all be a lot easier if we both just said what we meant, don’t you think?”

She sighs, nodding her head in agreement. You’re glad, because knowing how stubborn Santana can be, this probably would’ve gone on for several more minutes if she hadn’t relented.

“Are you okay?” 

Santana just asked you how you were not a minute ago, so you’re confused again. It takes you another few moments before you realize that she’s probably asking how you’ve been dealing with the breakup, and you swallow nervously.   
 “I’m... I mean, yeah. I’m fine.” 

You took too long answering her question, and you can tell she’s doubting your answer in the worry hidden behind her eyes. 

“Fine?” she repeats.

“Yes, Santana,” you try to laugh it off. “I’m fine.”

“Just fine?” she says once again, and you know you’ve screwed it all up already because she obviously isn’t believing you. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, trying to distract her.

“I mean... are you seeing anyone?”

The question comes out of nowhere, and you’re surprised for a moment. Seeing anyone? The idea seems so ridiculous to you, knowing how in love with her you still are. But then again, Santana has already moved on. She probably wouldn’t understand why you’re not ready to see other people yet. You guess that just proves that she’s not in the same place as you anymore.

“No...” you admit, and you swear that she looks relieved.

“Okay. But why just fine-- why not great?” she goes back to her previous line of questioning.

You’re not following her, but you don’t want to continue down the path of one of you saying something and the other questioning it, so you decide to respond as best you can. 

“Honestly?” you ask, and she nods. You’re glad for the look of genuine concern on her face. It encourages you to be more honest with your answer. “I miss you. You were my best friend for so long. It feels weird to not have that anymore.” 

That’s a good enough reason to not be ‘great,’ isn’t it? You’re allowed to miss her as a friend, no one can fault you for that. You’re just not so sure if you’re supposed to still be missing her as a girlfriend, now that she’s moved on, but no one but you (and Ani) have to know about that. 

She smiles at you for the first time since you’ve started talking, and you feel like you’ve picked the right words, for once.

“I miss you, too. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” she states, putting her coffee down on the table resolutely. “If it’s okay with you, I was thinking... I was thinking we could maybe try being friends? As long as you’d be okay with it. I mean, if there’s no hard feelings here or anything.” 

Friends. Santana wants to be friends with you. On the one hand, you’re happy that she didn’t bring you here to call you out on your love for her, or to tell you that she doesn’t want to see you anymore. She wants to be friends, which means she misses you and wants you back in her life. 

You know you should be grateful, but somehow you aren’t. 

You want so much more than friends from her, but you’re not going to tell her so. You want her in your life in any way you can have her. Sure, being friends will be complicated. Especially since it sounds like she only wants to be friends if there’s “no hard feelings,” which leads you to believe that she won’t want to be friends with you if she knows you’re still in love with her. You’re pretty sure of that. You’re not willing to take the risk to find of it that’s true by confessing how you feel, though. 

If you’re going to be friends, you’re going to have to pretend to be over her, and you’re suddenly not terribly confident in your acting abilities. It’ll be worth it just to have her back, you hope. 

“That sounds really nice, Santana,” you say, smiling as genuinely as you can.  “Really?” The smile on her face grows a little. “You don’t think that’d be weird?”

“Well... of course it’ll be weird, San,” you point out, because how could it not be weird? But weirdness isn’t bad, it’s just different, right? “But I really do miss you so much, I just... I want to be your friend again. Besides, you’re dating Emily now anyway, so it’s not like it’s that weird.” 

You’re careful with your words. You don’t want to lie if you don’t have to. You’re hoping the topic of your feelings for her will never come up if you phrase everything just the right way.   “Right... yeah, you’re right,” Santana says, after taking a moment to contemplate what you’ve just said. “So, you’re sure you’d be okay with that? Friends, like old times?”

You frown. Something about ‘old times’ doesn’t sound quite right to you. Maybe it’s because the last time you were just friends was practically before puberty, and you’re not sure that she remembers that. 

“Maybe we should try to keep the past out of it,” you suggest. “Maybe we should just start with the new times and build from there.”   
 She looks confused, and you hope you haven’t offended her. It’s not that you didn’t like what you’d become, obviously, but you don’t think it’s something you could go back to if you and she are going to be just friends. 

Even when you had first met, you knew there was something special about Santana. It was the reason that you trusted her so much right away, the reason why you grew close faster than you have with anyone else in your life. You’re not allowed to love that specialness the same way anymore, though.   
 “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want things to be awkward between us, San,” you explain. “I don’t want all the baggage, I just... want you.” She smiles shyly at this, and it encourages you to keep going.

“I want my best friend from seventh grade who I used to watch Gilmore Girls with, who let me paint her nails with every ridiculous color I could buy for 99 cents at the pharmacy. Those are the old times I want. I want us back, before all of the relationship stuff.”  “That’s pretty far back,” Santana says, the smile dropping from her face. She looks concerned, and you’re worried that you’ve said something wrong. Maybe she doesn’t want the same thing. Or maybe she doesn’t think that it’s possible. You rush to assure her that it is.

“I know,” you reply nervously. “Which is why I think we should start fresh, and maybe we’ll work our way back to there. And I think it’d be easier, for me at least. Do you not want that?”

You hope she doesn’t read too much into you saying it’d be ‘easier.’ It kind of implies that you’d be having a hard time of it in the first place. You have a feeling you’re not going to be very good at pretending you no longer have feelings for her if slip-ups like these are happening within the first five minutes of your rediscovered friendship.

“No, no, I want whatever you want.”

No, you don’t. I want to be with you.

You know you won’t be able to hold your tongue, so you just smile at her and take another long sip of your coffee. By the time you’re done, she’s asking you another question.

“So. How was the tour?” 

You shrug, because there wasn’t really anything worth telling. You danced a lot, and you partied a lot, but mostly you just missed her, and you can’t tell her about that. 

You can’t tell her about the nights you cried yourself to sleep, or the times you typed out long messages to her only to save them as drafts and delete them later. 

You can’t tell her about the time Ani found you in the bathroom, tears streaking down your face, because you heard that song on the radio. You spent the rest of the night in tears, telling Ani every heartbreaking detail of your relationship. 

You can’t tell her that, as good as Ani is to you, she doesn’t really understand you. She gives you weird looks when you make jokes. She doesn’t laugh, and sometimes you end up explaining them to her just to make sure she doesn’t think you’re too weird. She doesn’t hug right, either (her arms fall below yours, and you find yourself awkwardly clinging to her neck). You miss Santana’s hugs more than you care to admit.   “It was really... busy,” you lie, and she raises an eyebrow. 

“Busy? You go on tour with Britney Spears and all you have to say is that it was busy?”  “I was kind of distracted,” you try to brush it off, hoping that she’ll catch on without prying any further. She does, her playful smile dropping.

“Oh. Was it-- ... never mind. Did you make friends?” she changes the subject, and you’re glad. Especially because the change is towards something that makes you seem a little less sad and pathetic.  “Yes, actually!” you reply enthusiastically. “My friend Ani, she lives in New York too! She’s already gone on another tour, but we’re definitely going to hook up the next time we’re in town at the same time.” 

She smiles back at you, but it‘s small, tight.   
  “That sounds good, Britt. I’m glad.”   
 She doesn’t sound very glad, and you don’t know what to make of that. 

It feels like you’re talking to a stranger, the words are so unnatural and limited. It’s so stupid, because here she is, offering herself as a friend to you, and you can’t manage to say one thing without thinking about how much you love her or miss her. 

“Enough about what I’ve been doing. What have you been up to?” you ask. 

You decide to change the topic because Ani was really the only good thing to come out of your tour, and you don’t want to be faced with the decision to either tell her that or to lie to her even more. 

“I’ve been good,” she responds. “Going out with friends a lot, I guess. Working, school. You know, the usual.” 

You do know the usual. You know her entire routine and you can’t help but wonder if Emily has completely replaced you in it. Are they there, yet? How long have they been dating? Are they in love?

“Sounds mellow. I’m kind of jealous,” you comment, and she nods, still wearing the same tight smile. You can tell that she’s uncomfortable with the awkwardness, too. 

“So... how did you and Emily meet?” 

You don’t know what makes you ask the question. You suppose it’s because everything is so already awkward that you might as well get the topic out of the way while you can. It’s not as if you can just go on knowing nothing about the girl Santana is dating, after all. You’re filled with dread at the thought of officially meeting her, though you’re sure it’s bound to happen if you’re going to be involved in Santana’s life again.  “We’ve had a few classes together over the years,” Santana answers vaguely, though it’s definitive enough for you to understand her meaning.   “Oh... so you knew her when--”

“I thought we were starting fresh, Britt,” she cuts you off, frowning. “But yes, I knew her then.” 

She knew Emily when you were away at tour, and that makes you uneasy. You know Santana would never have cheated on you, but you’re still upset by the suddenness of your breakup, that you can’t help but wonder if... No, Santana would never have done that to you. You’re sure of it.   “That’s nice. I’m... happy. For you. I’m glad you’re happy,” you finally reply. Her brow furrows further and the frown remains on her face. “... you are happy, right?”

“Yeah. I’m happy,” she answers, and when her eyes find yours again they’re guarded.  

“Then I’m happy,” you affirm, and she visibly relaxes. You don’t want to know why that topic made her so uneasy, but you’re happy to let it go. 

She presses a button on her phone that makes the screen light up, and sighs.

“Listen, Britt, I know this sucks, but I actually have a class in a half hour that I really can’t be late for.”  “No, no, it’s my fault for being so late in the first place. I’m sorry about that, again.” 

She starts to stand up, and you follow suit. 

“You can make it up to me,” Santana says as she walks slowly towards the door. She throws her empty cup in the garbage before turning to face you. 

“Yeah?” you ask, because you’re not sure what she means and you don’t want to push the boundaries of your friendship with flirtatious banter.

“Yeah,” she affirms, nodding. “I’m supposed to be going to Rachel’s tomorrow night for dinner. We’re meeting her new boy-toy, and I’m totally dreading how awkward it’s all going to be. You should come!”

She sounds so excited, but the idea of it makes you nervous. What if Emily is there? Would it just be Rachel, her new boyfriend, Santana, and Emily, with you tacked on as an awkward fifth wheel? Is there even such a thing as a fifth wheel?

“Oh, no... I wouldn’t want to intrude--”

“Please. You know she’d be ecstatic to see you. Kurt, too! Besides, you were always way better than me in these situations, you know?” 

You haven’t seen Rachel since you got home, and you’re sure she’d be excited that you and Santana are repairing your broken friendship. And if Kurt’s going to be there it won’t be too terribly awkward for you, even though you haven’t really spoken since the whole breakup debacle.   “Alright, alright,” you finally give in, and your heart races at how happy she looks that you’ve agreed to come. “What time?”   “I don’t know yet,” she answers. “I’ll text you with details later, okay?”

She’s going to text you, which means you’re going to get to talk to her even more between today and tomorrow. You’re nodding eagerly before the words are even out of her mouth.  “Yeah, that sounds great.”  

She smiles and takes a step backwards towards the door. You begin to trail behind her awkwardly, unsure whether or not your conversation has ended. 

“Santana?” you call her name just as you both get outside, and she stops her movement, turning back towards you.  “Yeah?”

Your heart flutters nervously, knowing you may be pushing limits with what you’re about to ask.  “I know we’re starting fresh, but... can we still be the kind of friends who hug each other goodbye?” you say nervously.

She breaks into a grin at your words, laughing lightly. 

“Of course, Britt. Come here,” Santana says, her arms reaching out to wrap around you. Your arms fall around her torso, and you squeeze her gently, glad to be receiving a proper hug for the first time in months. 

The hug lasts for a few seconds, and just when you think she’s about to pull away she holds you tighter against her, her fingertips sinking into your skin. You feel her sigh against you, and when she finally does pull away there’s a small but real smile on her face and you feel like blushing even if you don’t understand why. 

“I’ll talk to you later,” she says, smile unfading.

“Yeah,” you reply, taking a step in the opposite direction. “Bye!”   She gives a small wave before turning to walk away. Your eyes don’t leave her until she turns the corner, and you finally start the walk back to your apartment when she disappears from view. 

\--

You’re going to be friends with Santana. 

You’re going to text each other and call each other. You’ll talk on a regular basis; you’ll know what’s going on in her life, and she’ll care about what’s going on in yours.

You’ll throw a small dinner party and invite her and Rachel and Kurt. Maybe she’ll be the first to arrive, holding a bottle of wine in one hand when she knocks on your apartment door. Maybe you’ll pour you each a glass before sitting on the couch to catch up on your lives. Maybe she’ll sit in the chair across from you. Maybe she’ll sit next to you, her knees brushing against your own every few minutes. 

You’ll go see Rachel’s shows together, and make fun of the weird faces your friend makes while singing, snickering together in the back row. People will turn and shush you, and you’ll laugh louder. Rachel will roll her eyes at you afterwards, but affectionately, because she really does appreciate the support you give her. 

Maybe you’ll start spending a lot of time around Emily. Maybe you’ll learn to like the girl. After all, if Santana likes her, she can’t be that bad, can she? Maybe you’ll be friends with her too, eventually. 

Or maybe they’ll break up and you’ll have to be the one Santana comes crying to when she’s heartbroken over someone other than you. Maybe you’ll have to be the one to hug her and wipe her tears away. She’ll apologize for getting snot all over your nice shirt and you’ll tell her that it’s okay, she’s worth more than the shirt to you. She’ll make a comment about looking like a crazy mess and you’ll tell her you think she looks beautiful. Maybe it’ll be awkward. Maybe it’ll make her blush. Maybe she’ll smile shyly at you before leaning in to kiss you.

You’re going to be friends with Santana, no matter what it entails, and the more you think about it the more excited you get. 


End file.
